Neptune's Revenge: Sailing the Dark Sea
by cliff.west
Summary: INTRO: You need to read Neptune's Revenge before starting this book. The Colonials after joining forces with a group from Rifts Earth had thrown the Cylons off of New Caprica. Now they must repair, rebuild, recover, and then prepare for the future. The Cylons are gone, for now. The now mixed group must work together to find the planet that the Colonial are looking for along with th
1. Chapter 1

INTRO: You need to read Neptune's Revenge before starting this book. The Colonials after joining forces with a group from Rifts Earth had thrown the Cylons off of New Caprica. Now they must repair, rebuild, recover, and then prepare for the future. The Cylons are gone, for now. The now mixed group must work together to find the planet that the Colonial are looking for along with the 13th Tribe that might be living on it, or they both might die off.

To be safe I think Fiction T is the best rating.

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **BOOK 2**

 **Neptune's Revenge: Sailing the Dark Sea**

 **Chapter 1 Starbuck and Cards**

New Caprica, 786 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 3 years 6 month AT

It had now been a full month since the vote of the Quorum. It had not taken long for word of the vote to get out to the rest of the fleet. It had taken only slightly longer for word about what had happened during the meeting to reach the Settlement. Luckily that had reached them before they had found out about the details of what had been discussed.

It had not gone over well for the general population of the Settlement. It took the recent additions from the Colonials to explain why it had happened the way it had. It helped little because of how soundly the the idea had been rejected by almost all of the Colonial governing body. There were still some sore feelings among the Earthers and not a few Colonials about the ideas that the vote had been based on.

The other thing that had helped greatly in getting relations on a better footing was the lottery Admiral Adama had started up for the Earthers. The prize: a seat on a once daily flight on a Raptor for up to eight people to take a trip up to the Battlestar Galactica. He already had some volunteers rounded up to help give those Earthers a nice little tour of the old warship.

Adama hated dealing with any civilians. But he would do what he needed to do if it helped his new but very powerful allies to calm down again. It was amazing how much good will you can get by giving people who had never had access to even very high altitude flight some free rides into space. Followed by a few hours of touring a big spaceship lead by volunteers who spoke passable English most of the time.

Working with those Volunteers had brought one of them to Bill Adma's attention. She had asked for a short private meeting with him not long after she had started her tours. She had told him that the Settlement liked precious metals, as well as what he knew of as strategic metals. That was not a big surprise to him. What was a surprise was that they had an open trade.

Apparently the little wood walled village had had a legal gambling house for some time now. He had been briefed a few times on the economy the Earthers had set up for themselves. He knew it revolved around recharging and the everyday use of those amazing battery-like things called E-clips.

Now this seemed like a secondary economy of some kind, but not like the one that the Colonial black markets was running. He did some checks to make sure it was all true, he had to make sure about a few things on his side of the equation. For one thing, he needed to make sure no one would be alarmed that the military leader of what remained of the Colonial military was interested in that type of information.

Once he was sure, he called Laura and the head of her legal team for a private meeting. Which they then had to postpone while they scoured the fleet for somebody with the right legal background. As soon as the meeting had ended, a few hours later, he pulled out a few items from the ship's safe that very few people knew about. Then he had Starbuck called in to his cabin for a private meeting.

Starbuck had looked like death warmed over every time he had been able to take the time out of his day to see her. Bill had seen her at least once every day since he had found out she was still alive. His family was about as together again as it had been since before the Cylons had blasted them to the Stone Age with the surprise attack.

He had seen the reports. Even the reports his XO Colonel Tigh did not get to see. He had seen detailed medical records that only the doctor or father normally would have access to in more conventional times.

He had no idea what they did to her while she had been in that 'Cell' for so long without any real human contact. But he had seen what Cylons could do to the human mind and body in the First Cylon War and it seemed that, if anything, they had gotten even better at that horrible game of playing with human minds without hurting the physical body. Her husband Samuel T. Anders was trying to help, but the jury was still out on if it was going to be any actual help or not. Maybe it was time to see if a different game would work on fixing whatever was broken with her.

Bill Adama knew that Kara Thrace was supposed to be in his office soon, but with her you never knew when she would show up to most meetings. She was like a daughter to him, he had never thought differently. Even after his youngest son, Zack had died in that Viper training flight. If she was late it was not because she was disrespecting him in any way. It was because she might have seen something shiny on the way to where she was supposed to be.

That was one of the many reasons she was such a great Viper Pilot. She would notice things. Things that others would miss. Even while just walking down the deck of a Battlestar. She could never make it that far on nature hikes, but she could run on a track like there was no tomorrow.

When the knock sounded on the hatch to his cabin, it was ten minutes before Starbuck was due for her meeting with him. Now Bill had no idea who it might be on the other side of the hatch. It should not have been who he was expecting. Starbuck was never early…to anything but a bar that is.

* * *

Starbuck was propped up against one metal wall of the corridor and was waiting outside of Adama's cabin. She was just standing near the hatch to the Admirals Day Cabin, completely ignoring all that passed by. She had been there for some time, but she was just waiting till it was closer to her appointment time. After all it was not like she had anything better to do today. She knew that she was not tracking right, or close to normal even for her.

She was trying her best to get her feet back under her mentally, but she knew that she was not combat ready. And if she knew that, then the Doctor did also. If the Doc reported back to the Old Man about her wrecked mental state, he would pull her Viper flying status, and she would not be allowed to fly.

She did not know what she would do if the Admiral did something like that to her. She told her husband last night about the message to see the older Adama, and what she thought that it might be about. Sam knew how devastating losing her flight status might be, and had taken her in his arms to try to calm her down.

He told her that they would 'find' something to do if it came to that. He told her she was smart, a skilled Viper pilot, and a good frakking operation planner. If they did not want her in combat, that was okay with him because now she would be safer someplace else the next time they got into a fight against the Cylons.

Sam said that there was talk going around in some circles of the fleet. That the Colonials were working on integrating some of the Earther tech into Vipers and Raptors. He said she might be able to get a job as a test pilot or something along those lines.

Starbuck had not thought about them adding some of the Earther tech items into Colonial ships. She did not know if they would pick her up as a test pilot or not. She had a reputation for being the best Pilot in what remained of the Fleet's Viper force but how would that carry over to being a test pilot? The way her luck had been running lately they were more likely to put her in a padded room on one of the other ships rather than let her take on a test piloting or consulting job for new generation Colonial small craft.

She had seen the Earthers' body armor first hand, and even some of their weapons in use. She had thought that they were just amazing after she realized that she was not dreaming them up in her own head. If they could figure out a way add some of that to a Viper, and get it to working even half way right? Now that might be a job she would like to do after all. Even if it meant she was pulled from combat operations…for now.

Now all she had to do was sit around waiting in the access way outside of the elder Adama's day cabin. That never was her strong suit, even when she was hitting on all mental cylinders, and yet she so was doing that today. She checked her watch for what must be the hundredth time in the last half hour, and a deep frown came to her face. She was already starting to get some looks from people passing by, standing there in the metal walled hallway. She was getting jumpy, so as soon as it was close enough to the meeting time to fit her mental picture, she stuck the hard metal hatch with her right fist. That done, she waited to be allowed to enter the room, and most likely find out about her future as a combat Viper pilot.

* * *

Bill checked the desk mounted clock, then looked back at the hatch and ordered his mind to be quiet before addressing the knock. "Enter."

Adama started evaluating her the second it took his very quick brain to realize who it was entering his office. She was early. Her hair was in need of a brush but it was at least clean and so were her clothes. However it was the way she walked and then how she sat in the chair in front of his office desk that told the most about how she was doing mentally.

His Starbuck had always had a predatory and cat-like grace when she moved around the room. Whenever she took a seat, it was more like a bird of prey perching waiting for its next meal. Now she was moving almost like she was stiff, her walking tentative and uncertain. And when she sat in the chair in front of his desk, it was almost like she fell into the chair to hide from something. Far from the bird of prey he was used to seeing.

She was watching him back with scared eyes, again not like a bird of prey at all. He had seen those types of eyes before, but not from his Starbuck. Starbuck had never given any outward sign of being anything, but cocky at least on the outside. He had known her long enough to be able to tell when she was nervous, no matter how well she tried to hide it. But she was never scared.

That was what those eyes were telling him. This was new, and he catalogued it for review later.

Starbuck watched the older Adama watch her. He had not moved a muscle that she could tell. And she was not liking the way he was looking at her without saying a word after telling her to enter his domain. She had not felt like this since Zack had died all those years ago. The elder Adama did not normally use this gaze at her, not like this. She had seen an uncountable number of battle hardened combat veterans fold under that gaze she was getting today, and it was already starting to work on her now.

 _"Well I better let her know what I was thinking, because I think she is about to bolt for the hatch like a cat from a pack of wild daggits,"_ thought Bill.

He sat back in his chair, and let up a little on the look he had been giving her. This position put forward a more relaxed look to most people, and made them relax in turn or response.

"Okay Starbuck, you can breathe now. I have a mission which I would like you to do for me and the fleet. You do not have to do this, but I think it is a good fit for you and more importantly your skills." Bill stopped taking and waited to see how Kara was going to react to the bait he had just dangled in front of her nose.

Starbuck did not expect that statement, and the only thing she could do was blink a few times at the Admiral. She had to stop and think about what the Old Man had said, and after what seemed like hours, she finally gave a reply. She tried to give a 'normal' reply, but it sounded forced even to her ears.

"Sir, I have been dying to get in the cockpit again. Where am I going this time, the Cylon home planet or maybe a run back to Kobal?"

 _"Does he know how broken I am, and he wants me to pull another rabbit out of the hat,"_ thought Kara.

Bill smiled back at her. It was one of his warmer and friendly smiles, at least for the ones that normally came for him. Of course she would assume that it was a secret mission, in command of a Viper or Raptor attack of some kind. "No, Starbuck not this time. I was not thinking about anything like that, just yet. The Doc has to clear you for a return to flight status first anyway. And from what I understand, right now he is backlogged with patching up hurt jocks and crew, physicals, and interviews from non-prisoners. I'm sorry to say, that your medical check out is at the bottom of a long list of reports he still has to finish." Bill tried to keep a stern look as he explained a few things.

That part about the long list of people ahead of her was not exactly true. Sherman Cottle had already looked at her, and talked to Bill about what he had thought was her primary medical condition. Between them, they had moved her name to the bottom of the checkout list. It was hoped that this would let her buy some time for her to come out of her funk by herself.

"What I was thinking about, was another set of skills you have. And ones that I have seen you use more than a few times in this room." He raised one eyebrow at her, and tilted his head to one side. He could see the confused look all over her face. It was at the same time funny and a bit sad. "Have you spent much time with the Earthers, since you were pulled out of that Hades' hole the Cylon had you in Starbuck?" Now he wanted to get her mind to working again.

Kara made a face and tilted her head to one side to match what Bill had done. She was trying to see what Adama was driving at, and she was not that sure where he was still driving at. _"Well you won't find out if you don't answer his question you twit."_

"No, Sir I haven't. I saw a few of them a couple of days ago, in the hangar bay for a tour of the ship. But that is all that I can think of right now. Why?" The last word came out of her mouth, with a just a hint of wonder and concern equally mixed between them.

Bill sat farther back in his chair and rocked back and forth a little more, letting the chair softly squeak as he moved. "Okay Starbuck what we need to do, is something that has not been done in any fleet that I have ever heard of before. I don't think it has needed to happen since maybe at the founding of the Colonies, I bet. We need items for trading with and to these Earthers. That is besides some special lights for their hot houses and food growing tunnels. We need food, and a huge list of high tech items from them."

"What we are short of are items that they need from us. Items that we don't also need as badly as they do. I had hoped to trade some raw materials to them at first and some of our own tech. That has not panned out yet, and after seeing some of what they are carrying around, I don't know what we might be able trade to them tech wise. Right now, they are pretty flush with metal recovered from all of the Centurions and Raiders that they took out in the ground battle. That, and we are also short of those same raw materials. At least until Apollo finds more, and gets back to us. All we have on hand right now, we need for our own use."

"Now here is where you come in on this, Starbuck. You have a well-developed set of skills that we might be able to find is now useful to me and the fleet." He stopped talking, and waited to see how she would respond to what had said. He wanted her to connect all the dots, which he had just laid out for her. If he could get her to start thinking, maybe it would help her pull herself back together again.

Starbuck had no idea what the older Adama was talking about. And the longer she thought about it, the more her head hurt as she tried to catch up to what the Admiral was driving at.

The only skills she was thinking about was what she had as a great pilot. And the ability to frak with Colonel Tigh like there was no tomorrow. Okay, she had also been a good flight instructor once upon a time on a planet too far away to think about right now.

"Sir, maybe I have been in that cell a little too long after all. What exactly are you talking about, Sir? I have no idea on how to make trades." The tone was soft, and sounded as confused as she looked. While she was talking she looked up, and then back down to her hands folded in her lap.

Now Bill smiled at her, and then took a little more pity on her. She normally was a lot faster on the uptake than this. He had given her plenty of hints already. Would something like that affect the skillset that he needed from her now?

"The Earthers like to gamble and drink, almost as much as my other Viper jocks do. They even have a purpose built place for it, and it's all perfectly legal under their government. These are two things that are something, which I remember you have some skills at, yes?" The last words out of his mouth were joined by a single raised eyebrow. He knew that she would understand what he was hinting out. If not, then he was going to have to look at other options to get the job done.

Starbuck was floored so badly, her jaw was swinging open in the breeze. The term was gobsmacked, and it was a lot better fit of a term for the way she was feeling as she heard those words.

Was she hearing this right? Was it that the Old Man wanted her to go drink and gamble? Her mind had by now completely forgotten about the Doc not clearing her for any flying yet. She did a quick head shake. Tried to clear some mental cobwebs that seemed to be clouding her thinking.

Even with the cobwebs gone, she still looked at her commander in utter confusion. "Sir, how would I be able to do that? It's not like I have anything to bankroll me at the tables. If we were only talking about table stakes in the mess hall, now that would be different. I can do that. But you're talking about thousands of cubits per hand to be useful for what I think you have in mind."

"To be a high roller, I have to be able to play the part of one. I've done it for a few hands, after a long tour back in the day, but only a time or three. I don't have the weight to pull it off for a whole night. Much less do something like that for a few nights in a row. Is something like this even legal?" Normally being legal would not have rated very high in Starbuck's list of things to be concerned about, but today it was a different matter. She had spent too long in a prison cell recently, and was not looking forward to spending any more time in one if she did not have to. Cylon or otherwise.

Bill Adama did not say a word at first, and his face was schooled as he reached down one side of his desk. He slowly pulled open the topmost drawer of his old and battered desk open. From there he pulled out a small but thick leather pouch, and put it on the desktop in front of them both. He did not open the leather pouch, but he kept his right hand on the tooled leather.

"I have asked around, and under their laws, which you will need to review by the way, it is legal. As for the bank rolling... I will front you the money, with this." He pushed the pouch closer to her without saying a word more. He was inviting her to take the leather package, and open it to see what he was talking about as her funding for gambling.

Starbuck's face now had an even more confused expression on it as Bill Adama pulled his hand back to his side of the desk. But she leaned forward anyway without speaking, and picked up the leather object from the desk top. Bill looked back at her like a father would and smiled. Giving the nonverbal cue for her to continue.

Starbuck opened the leather pouch and poured the items into her open left hand. In her palm was now a mix of ten silver and gold cubits shining in the cabin's light with the Colonial Navy seal stamped on them. The normal face value was not that much compared to what she was used to. But now? She had never held this much real and pure gold and silver in her hands before in her life. Those ten odd shaped coins were now equal to a few years of back pay. At least for what they were trading at within the Rag Tag fleet.

Starbuck quickly put the metal cubits back into the leather pouch, and tied it back closed so that they would not fall out when carried. She was just using the time it took to tie the leather strings and fold the tooled leather to get her mind working again.

"Sir, what's the catch?" She knew that the older Adama would not throw her out the air lock. That is unless he had to, and the reward was totally huge for a lot of people. Like save the whole fleet, and every person within it, huge. But there just had be more to this than he had said to her, so far.

Bill tilted his head down a little, and looked at her over his glasses at her without at the same time glaring at her. "That is good, you're thinking and planning out moves or counter moves. I was starting to worry there for a second that you might not be ready for something like this. The basic idea of the plan, if you decide to take this mission after all, is that you will be listed as supporting in fixing our supply issues in a military capacity while you are dirtside."

Bill held one of his hands up, because he could see Kara starting to move. "This is legal under their laws. And I will make sure all of the right paperwork is done, so that you are covered from anything that might come down from a certain few of our people. You can keep ten percent of all winnings. You can also take up to ten percent of any winnings, and use it towards living expenses for you and your husband. Everything else you bring in will be used to buy what we need to support the fleet." Bill put his hands down and gripped his high back chair's arms.

"So are you in or not? If not, I understand. But I will have to go to the mess hall, and see who else might be game or have the gaming skills to pull this off." He was pretty sure that he knew which way she was going jump, but he felt that he needed to give her a way out just in case it turned out that he was wrong. She was family after all.

Starbuck now leaned back deeper into the chair after the hand movement that had stropped her question mid lips. She could not allow someone else to represent the fleet at the card table. It would be like a daggit letting a new dog use its favorite chew toy. Something like that was just not going to happen. Not without a big time fight first.

"Okay I'm in, but what happens if I lose all of this?" She pointed a long thin arm and pointed a thin finger at the brown leather pouch in her other hand. "I'm good, but I don't think I'll know the games these people like to play. And well, it's called gambling after all, and not winning." She tossed the bag of cubits two feet into the air, and caught it again like it was nothing at all. A soft jingling sound came from the metal cubits hitting each other inside the little bag, as leather made contact with her open palm.

Bill rose from behind his desk and went to a side table along one of the walls of his cabin. He made a show of pouring two large glasses of Ambrosia from a nice cut crystal decanter. When he returned to the desk area, he sat beside his almost daughter, and handed one of the two quarter filled glasses to her. "If you lose it, I can draw out some more, but it is not unlimited. So don't blow it all. Because I will have to pay it back if this plan blows up in our face."

"I need you both ready and packed right the frak now. I was going on the evening Raptor to the Settlement tonight. I would like you and your husband to join me on the trip down. I have a meeting with their leadership, and I want you to start as soon as possible. While I'm there, I can personally make sure that you're listed correctly with the leadership of the Settlement. That way no one can say that they didn't know what you're doing and who you were doing it for."

"If you can't make it, then you can try to catch the normal Raptor run in the morning. I would, however, really prefer you ride down with me." He had changed his mind at the last minute, and when she agreed to do the job. Originally it was planned out that they would fly down in the morning, now he wanted her to ride down with him. It should not be that big of a deal for Kara and Sam. After all most of the surviving Colonials did not have much to pack any more.

Kara did not say anything for a few seconds, as she fully made up her mind about what she was going to do. She looked down at the drink in her hand, then looked back up to Bill and gave a nod of understanding to what he had said.

Bill gave an answering nod, and they touched glasses and drank deeply of the amber liquid. It was just early in afternoon, but after the last few years, it really did not matter to them when they had a stiff drink among friends and family. For the next two hours the pair talked and finished the drink that Bill had poured for them.

It was only small talk, but it was the key that would start her on the road to coming to grips with what happened to her. She never would be back to what anyone could call normal, but a long road to travel was started with but a small step onto the pavement. She never even thought that she might want to check with her husband about the short notice relocation that she had been asked to do. Packing would be quick between the two of them. They might have a small rucksack or two full of personnel items including clothes between them.

* * *

Three hours after Starbuck had left the Admiral's Day Cabin, she was in the only hangar bay left on the Battlestar Galactica. Starbuck and her husband were part of a small group that boarded the Raptor marked for launching at one end of the overworked small craft support area. They only people on the small craft tonight were the pilot, the ECO, Adama, Starbuck, and Anders along with a few rucksacks on the floor of the small craft. It would have been filled with more, at least eight more people normally, but once Adama had put his name on the passenger list for this bird, the staff moved everyone else from that flight and put them on other flights with only a message that they had been bumped. This was done without the Admiral's knowledge. However he would have been both grateful, and a little annoyed that they had used his rank for his own advantage.

This will be Bill Adama's only second flight to the planetside settlement to date. He had too much to do to just be able to take a short hop down. Secretly he was hoping that this would change in the near future. Only a few people in the fleet knew why this meeting was going to take place. Most, upon seeing the Admiral going down gravity well, would just assume it was a sightseeing trip of some kind.

Bill could only wish he could take the time off, and just do some sightseeing or fishing for that matter. He knew that this was going to be a stressful trip. Adama tried to distract himself by watching the ground come up towards them as they cleared the high level cloud cover. As they flew over the seaward mountains, and then lined up on the improvised landing pad it was an amazing sight to distract the older Adama.

If this bit of land had been back on one of the planets in the Colonies, it would have been a very high end resort of some kind by the time that Bill Adama's farther was born. That was if any of the visitors could forget about the cold and rain that plagued this planet.

"This is where we should have put up a camp, instead of the muddy plain like Baltar demanded we should do." This was mumbled by the military commander as he looked out the side window of the Raptor in a low voice that dripped with venom.

As the Raptor continued its descent, his mind raced with thoughts that went through his mind in pain filled lightning bolts. "If we had just taken the time to plan a little more or better, then maybe the Cylons would have had a different reception than they got. When they found this planet, they might not have found us such an easy pushover. That Gods frakking damned Baltar. If they had not rushed so much when they first got to this system. Then things could have been so much different this time."

Adama was so deep in thought that he did not even realize that they had landed in the grassy area until the hatch popped open and the cool damp air rushed into the warm little transport craft he was riding in. After being stuck on a ship for so long the cold, the damp air hit Bill like a slap in the face.

The pilot on this run was one of the new and growing pool of recruits. One that had just finished the flight basic course on board one of the Battlestars. Both of the crew members were waiting for Adama, who, according to tradition should exit the Raptor first on any non-combat mission. He had to wave them to exit their stations, to show that he was ready for the craft to be emptied. No one would exit the craft until he checked a few items that one part of his brain had noticed on the flight down.

No one was waiting on the flattened tall grass of the space that had been set aside as the landing area. _"Well, it seems they are waiting for me."_ Thought Adama to himself as he kept his face from showing what was on his mind.

"Crew." Any namepatch on the obviously young pilot's flightsuit was obscured by the protective vest. If they had even gotten around to making him one. This one was so new that Bill hadn't gotten to know him yet and hadn't yet earned a callsign that he could recall. Bill felt himself sigh at the squeaky new pilot. "One of you can go into town, at a time. But the one that stays by the craft has to stay alert at all times." With the directions to the Raptor crew given, it started to empty out the one exit. But the people did not go far from the hatch after making the short hop from the low slung wing to the grass covered ground.

When Adama exited the craft, and put his first foot on the grass covered ground, the young newly qualified pilot snapped a very sharp salute. He was still standing on the wing when he sang out, "Sir! We will be ready to go whenever you're ready to lift, sir!"

The young pilot's voice kept getting higher and higher, until it almost broke from the young throat. Bill took four years off his estimate of the young man's age with the breaking of his voice. He had to fight to not start shaking his head in disbelief at the young man's age.

"Was I ever that young?" Bill wondered.

He forced himself to just nod at the young crewmen. Before he could say more. Bill heard a familiar sound coming towards him, and it was one that was not known to be used by the Earthers. He and the rest of the group turned to watch two Colonial military cargo trucks loaded to almost overflowing with metal salvage visible over their high walled sides.

The wheeled cargo trucks had come rumbling out of the woods only a few dozen yards away. They quickly went from the tree line, across the open ground, and into an open wood clad gate. That gate just as quickly, closed behind the two trucks. At first Bill did not understand what he was seeing, and then remembered the report about the attack on the Wood cutting detail. The one that had been so successful for both the Earthers and the Colonial units out in the forest. That must have been were the Earthers got those Colonial made military class cargo trucks. Because Bill was pretty sure that those trucks had not come from any of his ships.

After the trucks were both gone from sight and hearing, Bill turned to look at the odd couple standing next to him. The Colonial wide known sports star and the Viper pilot from the wrong side of the spaceport were the definition of an odd couple if there ever was one.

The pair were not holding hands, but they were standing so close together that they were almost in each other's pocket. He hoped that they were on the way to patching things up between them. He was not sure that their pairing was a good idea, but he could tell that Sam loved Starbuck. He also knew that you could never know who Starbuck was bound to fall for.

"Okay, you two. There's small log hotel set up near the building that they call Warehouse One. That should do till you can find other arrangements that might fit you two better." Bill turned slightly so that he was center on the woman.

"Starbuck you have the list of items I am looking for?" He gave the short haired blonde woman a slight nod of his head to emphasize his question. He would be standing there until she replied to what he had asked.

She patted a pocket on her field jacket with her right hand, but did not say a word.

Adama nodded accepting that she did indeed have the object in question on her person. "Okay let me know how things are going after you get settled in. I don't need or expect daily contact, but don't make me have to call you for an update." He looked back at the gate that had now re-opened and let an open topped hovercar exit the wood clad device. It was heading toward him about as fast as a human could run on open ground, so he assumed it was for him.

Looking back at the two warriors, he shook hands with them one last time. "Good luck. Remember, we need that stuff as fast as you can get me the funds to buy them myself or the items. Apollo should be back in a week or two, but you know I don't like to have a single point of failure anywhere in a plan if I can help it." He gave them a smile, as he boarded the now stopped hover car two steps away from him.

Bill was able to watch the two Colonials pick up their few bags, and start to walk to the Wood clad wall and gate under their own power. He wished he could have dropped them off at this Warehouse One place, but this was a very small little hover car that only had one open seat. Maybe it was best for them to walk around some on their own. Then they could get a better feeling about the layout of this strange town while they made their way to their home for the next few days. Besides, you never know. They might need the alone time without dad being around.

That was Bill Adama's last thought of the pair as the small hover car went through the defensive gates, and he lost sight of the two. It did not take long for the little hover car to catch up and pass the two scrap metal filled cargo trucks. It seemed to him that the cargo trucks were also going to one of the two ocean-going ships, that he was also heading towards.

For some reason, that stuck in his mind as a possibly important piece of information to add to the still limited data on these people. He had the feeling that the Colonials knew more about the Cylons than they did of this group. That was not true but it did feel that way sometimes.

As he worked on those facts, he started to wonder. _"Why were they not storing all of that salvage metal in one of the warehouses on dry land?"_ He did not doubt that there was some kind of a reason for it. The leadership of these humans did not strike him as people that just did things without putting at least some thought into it first. He was wishing that he could say the same for most of his people's leadership throughout their blood soaked history.

The meeting Bill was headed to was on the more heavily armed of the two ships in the protected bay. It was strangely named, and it caused a lot of confusion on the Colonial ships that held people that were more religiously inclined. That had been when the whole Colonial fleet had found out that in the old scrolls, Neptune turned out to be another name for the water God Poseidon in Colonial legends. But the Earthers had claimed repeatedly and very publicly, not to know about the Lords of Kobol.

In the end it was chalked up to be more lost knowledge on the Earthers' part. All because of the two hundred plus year Dark Age, the one that they had said that they had just come out of as a planet.

This time the meeting Bill was going to was not taking place in the main meeting room, but in the command section near the top most deck of the ship. It was a good view of the rest of the forward part of the long ship, and Adama took advantage of it so that he could see for himself the ship in the fading light of the setting local sun.

On the sly, Bill had ordered the Raptors to take as many images as they could whenever they overflew the Settlement. The images that were produced were not as helpful as he had hoped they would be. They did, however, give him a better idea about the ships that were the center of the village, as well as let him take his time reviewing the weapons they were both packing.

The Earthers on the ships had not done any weapons test since they had made contact, but the Admiral knew that they still held different types of drills on the ships. That way the ship would still be combat ready if the need ever arose from the ashes of what remained of the Cylons. Saul had remarked that the Earthers did not know the term 'letting your guard down'. Bill thought maybe that was another thing that they could teach the average Colonial.

* * *

Adama was looking out the massive front window on the ships bridge, when Kelly walked up to his side without out making that much noise. They shook hands then went to the back of command section, where the translation computer was already set up and waiting on them to use for tonight's conference.

Kelly started off the meeting between the now complete four person meeting, now that the last person had arrived. "Good to see you again Admiral. Have you got any word back yet from your scouting and mining mission?"

The fact that some of the Colonial ships were gone was common knowledge to both groups of people. But when they were planning to return, was a very closely held secret of the Colonial Military. And the limited space watching capabilities of the Earthers made it even harder to gain the requested information on their own. Kelly was fishing, and even without the sly little smile on his face, Bill knew what he was doing. He fully understood why the attempt at fishing had been made.

 _"Right to the point okay, I can deal with that,"_ thought Bill while he kept his face as bland as he could. "No, but they are not supposed to be back for another week or two. It they come back too early, then that would mean that they haven't found any raw material that we need. Or that they found Cylons lurking around close by. I'm just hoping that they've not found any Cylons or other dangers while looking around this nebula."

 _You wanted to get to point, so I will do the same Captain Kelly. Now let's see how you like being put on the spot._ "What have your people decided?" He touched a copy of the image that had been drawn over a month ago. They were tacked to the back bulkhead at head height near where he was standing.

It was a different member of the three man leaderships group. It was the one that normally did not say much on military or similar matters. "It was not a unanimous decision, but a super majority did vote to heed the advice from the oracles. That is one of the main reasons we wanted to have this meeting tonight, Admiral. How will we go about it?"

Max was looking and studying the Colonial military leader, trying to read any hint that he might let slip. The votes had been cast, tabulated and reviewed twice already. Just under 89.7 percent of voters had decided to leave the planet. What were the ones that voted against it going to do, no one knew yet. Not even the ones that had voted no to joining the Colonials. Max, Bob and Kelly were starting to look at different ways to make sure that the entire population left with the Colonials when it was time.

Adama smiled a very political smile, one he copied from Roslin some time ago. He was very glad that they would be joining them on the trip to find their 13th Tribe's version of Earth. He was jumping for joy on the inside, but he wanted them to think that he had his doubts about them joining his people.

"Okay, I will start making some plans on our end. It seems obvious to Laura and me, that someone wants you to come on our little mission. And has figuratively pointed us in a specific direction that they would like use to take. We just need to find out if we can do what this hint seems to want us to."

Bill let a little air out of lungs in a sigh that carried to the others. This was going like he hoped and had talked to Laura about. Unfortunately he knew that down the road, and maybe not even that far down the road, they were going to have problems. And he was betting that they were not going to be from the small side of the problem tree when they came to smack them in the face. Then again, there were many stories among the Colonials about the kinds of trouble a mortal could find themselves in if they went against what the gods had been trying to push them to do in the first place. Bill was betting that he could play on those stories when the time was right.

Bill did not let any of those last thoughts show on his face, but it took some effort. "I was hoping that your people would vote in favor of joining us. I have already had some of my people look at my copy of the drawings. I wanted to see if it could be done, with what we have on hand."

He looked around the room. This was partly to buy some time, and partly to let the computer translate what he had just said to them. "They have not had much time to work things out, just from the two pages we have been given. At the same time, we have to get all of the other ships ready for another long trip, and we don't know what we will find while my people are digging into their guts. If you have any people who might be helpful in any way, let me know. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will see something on those sheets that we might have missed."

Bill Adama stopped talking, and took the time to look each person in the eyes, and his mouth turned into a deep frown after looking at them. "I don't know if we will be able to do what this drawings seem to suggest we need to do. Back home, we had a Design Bureau with thousands of very smart people and massive computer support who did this kind of stuff every day. And it still would have taken years to plan something like this out." Bill felt the stress building up as he told these people, about the magnitude of what was waiting for them.

He had to give himself a little shake and decided to change the topic, a little bit. "Speaking of new ideas, the Acting President asked me to pass a long a thank you for getting the first Hydroponics rooms up and running already. The training of the people on how to use them will be a huge help. I don't know if you know how much this is a game changer for our people. We were doing okay living on vat algae and what we had in storage. But it was not great, and it was starting to cause other health problems among our younger ones. That brings me back to the subject of trading. We are short on things to trade, so I dropped off one of my officers, a Captain Kara Thrace and her husband at your village. They are, well, working on ways to find trade items for us, and to get her used to people again. She was one the people who were held long term by the Cylons before your ground attack was able to spring them." He did not need to say more. The stories of what those few survivors among the long term prisoners had gone through, had been told and investigated by both groups.

That struck a cord with the three other men. They had read the very detailed reports that had come out of 'The Building' weeks ago. They had put three of the human form Cylons to death after they were proven to be directly involved in the horrendous crimes committed within that ugly prefab building.

The form of death had made use of the water, as befitting naval people like the Settlement's leadership. After the trial that was very public, they had taken the three Cylons out on a boat to the open ocean two days after the verdict had come out. They had been given a final meal that was the best the Settlement could provide.

They had tied thick green vine ropes to all three of the Cylons' legs with three hundred pounds of rock weight. Then they were pushed out of the boat in one group into the deep, cold, and dark water of the ocean. They had been about two miles past the protected bay's boundaries.

The Cylon named Kathy had been on the little boat. She was there to make sure that it was done according to the Earthers' laws as they were written down. To some of the Colonials' surprise, it had been her idea on the method of killing the Cylons while the trial was taking place. So very little could be pointed to as targeting or prisoner abuse by the other Cylons at the punishment being given out.

The human forms might have been part machine, but they would not go to waste. Something in the deep water would take care of the bodies. In time.

Adama took the silence going on around him, to keep to his notes that he wanted to cover. "How is the battlefield salvage business these days? I saw two of our old cargo trucks coming in, right after I landed. They looked to be overfull of metal that looked like it was used Cylon parts."

Kelly looked up from the glowing screen of the computer, and waved another man over to join the group in the meeting. It was a person that Adama had not met yet. If he had, he did not remember the man, and he had always been good at remembering faces. Kelly pointed to the man now beside him, but not blocking the large display screen that made the meeting possible. "This is Hugh Lloyd. He is in charge of our supplies, and reports straight to us. I would like it if he can make contact with your officers, to see if he can help with your supply issues. "Hugh would you please brief the Admiral on what we were talking about an hour ago?" As Kelly was talking, Max and Bob were looking at the Colonial.

Adama and Hugh shook hands and maintained eye contact. "Sir, it is nice to be able to put a face to your voice. The trucks you saw were the last ones we think will be coming back to us in fully loaded. We have cleaned up, and covered our tracks to, all of the major combat sites. When the Cylons do come back, they will have very little to go on beyond the odd clue we've missed here or there. We hope."

"We also think we picked off the last of the roaming Cylons in the forest, but there is no way to be a hundred percent sure of that. It will be nice to be able to use our limited hauling capabilities on other projects that need to be done just as badly." Hugh pulled out a small electronic device from an inner pocket, and looked quickly down at its small display.

With a fresh look at his notes Hugh pushed on with the reason that he had been waiting on the sides lines of this meeting until just now. "Besides the metal we have been collecting. We were able to find some large deposits of Oralloy and Lithium rich clay that you asked for. The clay was in an old river bed about four hundred miles from here, and we should have only few problems pulling it out of the ground. The hardest part will be making sure that we do it in such a way that we do not leave any markers for the Cylons to find after we're done getting what we need. The Oralloy ore is going to be harder to get our hands on, because it's under water. But that has the advantage of the mining operations being very easy to hide. We are going to need to do so much more to it compared to the clay, hiding it on land might have been impossible. We hope to start pulling out both ore types in a few days. How much of each type of ore will you need to make a viable weapon?" No one that had come from Earth knew how to make a nuclear weapon. Much less have any idea on how many tons or pounds of the different types of ore would be needed to make one.

Adama was glad he had not been caught flat footed with this information about finding the ores they needed. The captain of one of the grounded ships had heard and passed the word on. It had caused a bit of joy to stir in the older Adama's heart when the word reached him.

He did some quick math in his head. He had most of the numbers already done in case this came up today. In the back of his mind, he had been thinking about bringing up the subject just before the meeting was about to break up. Now Bill did not have to wait.

"It mostly depends on the grade of the ore you can get from the deposits you've found. I think that it took us about two thousand tons of average grade ore, to make a single one-ten kilogram warhead. That's what we usually use for one of our capital launched missiles. A weapon of that size will yield up to one-fifty Kilotons of force on detonation on a target. The warheads that we normally mount on the Raptors or Vipers are smaller weapons, but it's just as hard for us to make one of the smaller missiles as it does for a capital sized one. Now that we are out of usable missile casings we'll have to build them both from scratch now. I think going for the bigger punch is the way to go for right now. That is if you can get the ores to us."

Bill folded his arms and hands behind his back and set his feet shoulder width apart. Now for the hard part he thought to himself, as he got into his full commanders pose. "How will we handle the ore trade, it's not like we have a lot to offer right now? I would think that element 235 or 92 as you normally call it, is going to be expensive to recover, but not that much less than the clays that are needed for the yield boosters. Or do you want to hold off recovering the ores until my people have enough of what you need?"

Hugh looked at the other three men, but did not say anything as a reply to the Colonial Admiral. This was not his area of responsibility, so he kept his lips closed and let the bosses cover that little issue on trade and timing. He did not agree with the plan that had been discussed by the trio last night, but it was not his call. He knew that he was going to have to work with whatever came out of the meeting.

Kelly looked around the group in the meeting also, but it was purely for show. The three of them had spent hours and hours debating and trying to predict how this conversation would play out. Now it was time to see if they were right or not. If not, they had a few counter plans already worked out, but they were not as helpful for the people from Earth. "What we were thinking is that we would like to set up some kind of a trade in kind arrangement. If you say that you need two thousand tons of ore per weapon, maybe if we mine, say ten thousand tons of ore for you, then our people will get one weapon of our own of the same size that you are making for your defenses. How does that sound?" Kelly made sure not to smile as he made his pitch. That would have ruined what he was trying to work out.

Adama was not sure at first how he should handle this flow of events. They were talking about him giving up a weapon of mass destruction to people that he barely knew. Even if they had been very helpful and had been so for a while without much in the way of reservations.

He knew that the best way to judge people was to see how they acted when they were not looking for a reward. They had proven themselves already a number of times using that standard. That they were friendly, and they were planning on leaving this planet with his people in the future was also not in question. Then again, the last time he had given up a nuke to someone that he had thought knew how to take care of one, it had ended up blowing one of the civilian ships out of space. That was not a good track record, but you had to start somewhere.

"That seems a bit cheap for you to get a nuclear weapon out of the deal." Bill stopped talking mid-way through his thought, and made an odd face. What would having ten new anti-ship nuclear warhead missiles be worth to him? More importantly, how many civilians could be saved with those ship killers when the Cylons found them again?

It did not take Bill long to figure out the answer to those questions. He needed to cut one loophole that he had already seen in this offer. He did not want to link this deal to tons of ore, in case the ore was low quality or just useless rocks.

"If we can make ten warheads, then I will sign over one to your leadership. Any more than that one warhead and you're going to have to talk to Roslin. But that is only after I have been able to build the other nine weapons first. My people have the skill, equipment, and the energy to do the work. Yours will be supplying the raw material, but it's just rocks and mud without us to do the work to get the weapons ready. On the other hand, without you supplying the ores, we will not have the warheads we need." Bill was still speaking, and then stopped when he noticed the other people in the meeting looked happy with what he was saying.

Kelly had a big smile with lots of white teeth showing. Some would say he had a huge smile on his face. It was right then that the elder Adama realized he had unknowingly left meat on the bone in this little side negotiation. So he was not surprised when Kelly spoke. Still smiling at him. "If you make ten weapons, we will get one. The last one that is made. That's a deal, Admiral."

Now Kelly let the smile fall from his face as he filled in the Admiral on what they were going to do with the weapon. "Our plan is to see if it will mount on one of the few Long range missile weapons we have left. After that one weapon is turned over. We will deal with the civilian leadership of the Fleet on a longer ranged plan. My people understand that this will be on case by case basis. I think that is agreeable."

The other two men nodded their heads with matching grins. It the rest of the meeting went this well, it would be a great evening. The three men from Earth were thinking long term about getting these weapons. Of course it would be useful against Cylon Baseships when they left this planet. Beyond that however, it would also be something for when they found Earth. They wanted their small group of people to have the big dog of weapons once they got back to Rifts Earth. The three men knew without a doubt that the Collation States would be coming at them with everything they had.

Hugh could not help himself and smiled that this had gone so much better than he had thought it would or had even hopped to expect. It did prove that some of the Colonials would do just about anything to get what they thought they needed to fight for their survival against the Cylons.

Hugh thought that this was a good thing. Too many of the ones he had seen lately looked like abused animals. "Well that is one thing down, Admiral. I'm glad you brought up trade between our people. We have been working on bring a third armor production plant on line. I have a list of parts, which your ships might be able to make us so that we can build the thing. That third plant will speed up our production to around twenty sheets of the four foot by four foot by one-eighth inch armor sheets on average per day." Hugh did not consider himself a smart man, only average one in the intelligence. But he could see the gears turn in the Colonial Admiral's eyes. As clear as day as he read the computer screen.

Hugh handed over an off white folder which held about thirty sheets of paper inside it. "I would not get my hopes up, Sir. What we need to be made for us are standard items that we are running short of for the whole Settlement. They start with screws, nuts, bolts, bearings and various mounting plates. So there is nothing in there that we would call proprietary technology or anything like that. At least not yet. Most of the items in there are things we would like to ask you to make for us. After filling our orders for the plant, of course. They should sell very well to the Settlement as a whole. They also should be very easy for your ships to turn out, without delaying production of spare parts for the other ships by any measurable amount."

Adama took the rectangle folder and opened it to reveal the white pages within. It was still strange not to have the cut corner look of Colonial stock, but that was just a small aesthetic after all. He slowly flipped through the pages filled with engineering diagrams and notes.

There did not seem to be anything special on those pages that he flipped through. The other man had been right. When they first asked about supply parts to help build up their armor production, Bill had thought about finally being able see how they did the magic that they did with their armor plate. Something the Colonials could possibly copy for their own use. These were terribly mundane in comparison.

When he had gone through each page he nodded to the man. "I don't see anything that might have a technical hurdle in production. It was nice that you wrote them out in Caprican. Most of my people can only say a simple greeting in your tongue, if that. If you could provide physical samples as well so we can verify that the specifications translate properly through the language barrier, that would be the best."

The idea of selling simple types of mounting hardware had not occurred to anyone on his staff. The monster called 'assumption' had struck the Colonials again. He could not count how many times he had had to send requests to the machine shops for the same types of items for his own ship. You just don't think about how many nails it takes to build a home, or how many bolts get stripped to unusability every day. Adama did not know this, but there is a reason that nails are measured in a term called a penny in the United States. And a Penny was also used as a measure of value.

Hugh nodded back to the Colonial. "I'm not surprised. We've tried to limit the different sizes and styles that we use ourselves after we started to run short of those items. We also have the first load of Cylon and Colonial weapons along with the ballistic ammunition that work with them. All ready for pickup whenever you're ready for them. Recovered missiles have been in shorter supply than we had expected, so I cannot give you a time to pick those up just yet."

Hugh smiled and held out his right hand. This was the signal that he was done with his planned part of the meeting. "I look forward to doing more business with you or your representatives later." Hugh was thinking that if he could finally deal with someone that was not one of the key power players, he might be able to move things along a lot faster than they had been moving of late. After all the Fleet Admiral only had so many hours to work with in a day that he could devote to all the things under his command. Someone with less rank might be able to speed more time working on the issue he needed to complete to help the people he worked for.

The hands were shook between the two men. From the tone he had heard coming from Hugh, Bill did not think later was going to be too much farther down the road. It was just a feeling he was getting from the rest of the men standing around the table. Bill was thinking that it was good thing that he was getting support from these people and his own to get things working faster. Adama had to fight down a wry smile. It was a strange feeling to not have everything go through him first before they could get done.

Captain Kelly thanked Hugh, but the Head of the Supply Department did not walk far from the table after being thanked. This reinforced the hunch that was in the back of the Colonial's mind. Captain Kelly then went back to talking to the Admiral, and the rest of the group in this meeting. "Now, for the next point of business we need to cover tonight. When we had our first meeting with you, we said that we have some legal issues and concerns. One, we have a set dogma about certain freedoms for our people to include freedom of religion. Do you and the rest of the Colonial leadership have a way to guarantee that we will not be absorbed. And our belief systems or legal system will not be flushed out an airlock after we join your group?" It had not taken long for the Colonial legal penalty for what they called heresy to make the rounds of the Settlement. It also had not taken long for it to be compared to something out of a nightmare.

Adams looked at them and he could not stop the poleaxed looked showing on his face. This was a 180 degree change in the flow of the meeting, and not one he ever suspected would come up tonight. "I have not put much time into thinking about that subject Captain Kelly. But I'm betting you all have come up with something on that matter already that you can work with. So why don't you lay it out on the table and let's all have a look at it?"

"I do think that you need to bring this up with the Acting President, not me. This is more her area of operation. I handle the Military side of things. The internal workings of which I'm sure of." Adama let a thin smile come to his face, but it did not take a lot of political savvy to know that it was not a real look. He was just trying to fight his way out of a corner, that he had just taken a bite out of his butt.

The three Earthers nodded to the elder Adama, but Captain Kelly pointed to the drawing. "We have a plan or two, but we wanted to show you something first. We wanted to see if this was a good place to start, or if you had any other suggestions." What Kelly was pointing at were copies of the two sheets of line drawings now on display on the table top. Bill had no idea who had put the table there, but it had not been there a few minutes before. "You can see that basically the hulls of both ships of our large ships have been somehow grafted on to one of your Battlestar warships. Why don't we use the same system that has worked out so far on the ground? Your laws work on your ships, but on the grafted parts that are made up of Bob's and mine ships. Our laws are the ones enforced, and by our people." Kelly licked his lips, and tried to hide that this was one of the few times that he was very uncomfortable with what he had pitched in an upper level meeting.

Kelly could feel his co-leaders beside him and for some reason it felt better. "If your military is like any I have dealt with on my planet, you are going to bring up that split commands fail in combat. It is one of the golden rules of command where we come from. We have all agreed that you're the senor warship commander. And all of the weapons on our ships would be linked to your command, and be directed as such by your CIC. But the rules and laws of the people living in that area would be what we have always thought of as being normal. Those areas will also be represented by a governing body of their choosing that also lives and works in that area that is under 'Earther control' for lack of a better term."

Adama was trying to think on his feet, and had already come to one conclusion. The hard part would be whether he was going to be able to communicate it. They had just made a few good points, and ones that he had not thought of. This was something that he was not used to having to do. He hated to deal with politics of any sort at any time. But it seemed like he had or been having to do that more and more. Ever since he had gathered what was left of the Colonial ships at Ragnar Anchorage, and got them to follow him away from Colonial space looking for Earth and the Thirteenth Tribe. "I can see where your coming from with most of those issues. This is again, more of a political item than a military one. If you have an idea written down, I will pass it along to our Acting President, as an official request. Other than that I think it might work, but I also think that this needs to be closely studied." Bill made a face then locked eyes with Kelly. He wanted to let these people know that he was taking what they had said seriously. "I will remember what your people did for my people, when you did not have to. You could have just stayed hidden, and no one would have known you were here."

The three men nodded, and Captain Kelly began to speak again. This time he was leaning a little more forward than he had been before. It was a more predatory pose, and Adama did not think that it was an unplanned maneuver on Kelly's part. They wanted something big, and this ship's captain was not sure they were going to get it without a lot of horse trading.

"That is a good place to start. At least something is on the table from a starting point to be marked out. Now about defenses, we have quite a bit of combat power, which is higher tech than your used to having to deal with. You have never had to plan how to use it or how to plan to defend against it. We want to keep control of most of it." Kelly gave Bill a sly and knowing smile. "We know that you're trying to work on it in the dark. By the way, how is that modified Viper with three twin lasers mounted in place of your KEW's working out for your people?" Kelly had just thrown a thick beef steak on the table for the Colonial to chew on.

Bill made his face go very still and he kept his mouth from opening up. _"Well Frak, so much for keeping that a bit secret for a while longer"_ thought Adama. We told them that we were going to be working on integrated some of their technology into our weapons. But Frak, how did they find out so much about it already. "We are still working on plans, and some rough ideas. We have had other issues that have a higher priority than those that projects. So it has not moved much past a few bull sessions and notes on scrap paper. In any case, the Pegasus has the only Colonial Viper production capabilities that we know about that is still in working condition. So until they get back, we are just kicking around ideas and not really working on it that hard."

Bill stopped talking again, and looked over the rim of his glasses at the Earther across from him. "From what I'm getting from your line of thought, are you offering to help us with that project?"

 _"Now that was a good way to put the ball back in their court_ , _"_ thought Adama. As he looked around the table, the looks on the other men's faces led the older Adama to think that they were expecting the exact response he had just given them. _"Frak, I fell into it again. I have to get better at countering them. It must be because I'm getting older. Then again, it might because of the different language we have to deal with."_ These were the rapid fire thoughts that went through Bill's mind at the speed of light.

Kelly was still leaning forward over the low table, and had a smile on his face, one that the Elder Adama was not too sure if it was supposed to be friendly or not. "Let's put that question on the side, for right now. If or when we leave this rock, we can think about adding new classes of weapons into your arsenal. I think we can work out some deals that might address that question with a better focus. What we were thinking about right now is, what we feel needs to be done. It's that most of our combat equipment is supposed to be space rate. At least that is according to the sales literature we have recovered from some of those shipping containers. We say supposed to, because none of us has seen it done before. And we don't know what might come up, if they were in a space combat environment and had to use our weapons to defend the fleet. Also what we would like to know what the cost would be to us to put say five or six of our people, into one of your ongoing Viper and Raptor training classes you have been running?"

Of all the things that might have come up that was not anywhere on the list in Adama's mind. Before he could open his mouth to say a word, he was thinking. _"Now why would they want to send someone to learn how to fly a space fighter like a Viper?"_

Bill felt the corner of one side of his mouth droop a little. "I would have to get back to you on the cost, but maybe that would help everyone with the language problems that are going to come up more often. I can see now why, you're wanting to ramp up your production of armor plates. Flight schools are not cheap, even the boot strapped ones we have set back up to replace our losses. The big question now, is what are you going to do with the pilots after they're trained on Vipers or Raptors?"

Bill wanted to do a little fishing to see what they might be thinking about with this flight school idea. "If they're in my units they fall under my orders and Colonial Laws, even off duty. We had problems that some of the other Colonies had odd laws compared to the rules that the Military was supposed to be following. We learned that there had to be only one set of laws that can be enforced in the military. At least for active duty personnel. reservists would only fall under those laws when they're recalled for a stint of active duty." He was looking at each of the now four individuals from Earth. One at time, with the best 'don't frak with me' look that he could make. It was an impressive look, but his audience was used to that kind of thing and it had no visible effect on them that Adama could see.

It had very little effect on Kelly mentally, much less physically. It did have some effect on the ship's commander. But not like it would have on a person, who had not used that very same look for decades. And he had had to use it against not only humans either. It was more of a score board for Kelly to match against the Colonial's score.

"If anyone joins the Colonial military, then they belong to the Colonial military unit until their tour of duty is over." Kelly had a thin lip line as he continued to speak his mind. "Just like the way it was done back home. What we are thinking regarding those Viper and Raptor pilots, is that it would be nice to have a reusable power projection device that can go farther out than my long ranged missiles or cannons can reach. And we know that those are space rated as well as can operate in a planet's atmosphere. Right now, we don't think most of our warfighting capability will be able to range more than a few tens to hundreds of miles away from our hulls. Even if they work as they are advertised to do in real life. You brought up Viper production capabilities just now. I'm sure you're not surprised that we have been told about that before our first meeting. We think that if we traded for a few of them, we could expect to be able to maintain them out of our own coffers. For now those classes, would fill some of the requirements that we see coming down the line."

Kelly had been voted on to be the main spokesmen, but none of them were sure what would happen next. At least not after this topic had been brought up to the Colonial military commander. Adama, for his part, was not sure what way he was going to go after they dropped that bomb on him. _"Well, that is why I get paid the big cubits."_ He had no idea that he was drumming his fingers on the wooden table top as he mentally looked at the different angles of the idea. He needed to buy some time, and for the second time in this meeting he wished that Roslin was with him today. She would have a better idea of what would happen when the Colonial political leaders heard about this idea. He held up his hands in a 'please wait' gesture that was surprisingly common to both group of humans.

When he was ready, Bill's mind let his mouth work again. And his fingers stopped moving mid drumming. "Okay let's slow this down a little, if you please. I already agreed to give up one nuclear weapon, but that is if you help me make nine of the same weapons for us. It's worth the risk to me. If we don't make the total estimated numbers? I still get the weapons I need, and I can't exactly get them from any frakking place else. Now you're talking about me selling or trading you some Vipers and Raptors after we get you trained up to use those craft. This is a completely different Pyramid game to me. Those craft cost between three and six hundred million cubits each, fresh off the factory lines for the Colonial Fleet buying them in bulk. Even the old museum piece Mark Twos, which we had on my ship, they cost almost a hundred million cubits each. Back when they were new. If you were rebuilding one into a fly worthy condition it could cost a lot more than that."

"We can make a few new Mark Seven Vipers, and the spare parts to support them in a week. If we have the raw material, and we don't need that many replacement parts for the rest of the Viper fleet, we could double the rate of production." Bill made a face and his lips turned into a deep frown. "But any new Raptors? All we have now are all the Raptors we are going to have ever again. I will find it hard to release the few of those craft I have left. After things settle down some, and I have the assets free from other tasks. I'm actually going to go look around what is left of those wrecked Baseships. We know that the Cylons have used captured Colonial craft before. I'm hoping we can luck out and find a few wrecks. We'll need any spare part for those craft I can find under any handy rock."

Kelly made a sour face. Those were all good points, and he had to agree with what the Colonial commander had said. "I understand where you're coming from. After all, it's not like we will be getting any more sets of powered body armor, or any other replacement weapons and parts for that matter. We are in the same boat as you are Admiral." That was a little dig on the Colonials, and Kelly knew it was. The Settlement had given or sold weapons and body armor to the Colonials. Even knowing that they would most likely never be able to get fresh sets to replace what was sold or lost in battle with the Cylons.

The verbal hit was not lost on the Admiral, but he did not react to the point being made against him. Kelly went on talking. Ignoring the barb he had just given to the Colonial. "We have other skills and equipment to offer, besides our warfighting items that you and your people have already seen in use. We have construction equipment, which I doubt you have when you left your home systems." He paused this next bit was going to be a little touchy. "Don't take this the wrong way, Admiral. What we offered earlier to your people, we did it because it was the right thing to do. Now that I have covered my butt politically, how is your President doing after her treatment?" One of the things that had come up before the first year on this planet was over for Kelly and the rest of the people carried by the Lucky Find, had been the issue of doctor-patient confidentiality between one party and a second non family member.

Adama had to fight the urge to hit the man across the table as his first instinct. He had to fight real hard not to, but he did have a few points. The Earthers needed to show that they had medical skills, which his fleet was in very short supply of. Short supply not only in terms of specially trained personnel, but also some very unique medical equipment that these people had access to. That last thought let the older Adama center himself, and calm down at being asked such a personnel question. "She is doing very well thank you. She had completed the final treatments last week. I understand that your people would like to see her every few months, to make sure she remains in remission from the cancer. They said that if it or another one of the same class comes back, the next round of treatments will be easier on her. Since it will not have had as much time to expand into her body unchecked by medication."

Kelly nodded and let out breath he had been holding, with a soft audible sigh. For a few seconds, it looked like the Admiral was going to try to take a swing at him or something. "It is in my experience that Medical people are always in short supply and good ones even more so. We were lucky in that we had a few extra, when we got here. And they have trained a few more of our people while we were in hiding. But it makes the point that we can help in those two areas also. That is until the ratio of healing skills and number of medically trained personnel level off between our people. Or we run out of our advanced medication, the devices break, and cannot be fixed again. With your support ships, I hope that the last condition is not going to happen for a while down the road." Kelly had just let the Colonial know that the Earthers were going to share two new types of knowledge with his people.

Kelly leaned back away from the table, and gave a soft smile. He wanted to give the hint that their people were going to need stuff to fix the Earth made equipment. Most of it had been in use for years now. It would start to wear out even faster with the heavier work load about to be placed on them.

"Now that that one sore spot is cleared up." There was now a twinkle in Kelly's eyes and the tone he had just used had caused Max to roll his eyes. "We have a few other items, which we have not covered in the few trade talks we have had to date. There are some things that you need to know about those twenty armor plates your supply person bought on the market auction a few days ago."

Adama looked around the group, and noticed that they all had knowing smiles, and they did not look mad about the Colonials having bought those plates. The skin on the back of Bill's neck started to itch. This was almost as bad as having to deal with Tom Zarek. Bill could not see any trap, so he went with honesty. "We were told that it was on open sale, and anyone who wanted to bid on them could do so as long as they had the money at the close of bidding. Was there some misunderstanding of some kind in this auction?" Now Bill was sweating on the inside, but he kept his voice calm. He was deciding how hard he was going to fight to keep those armor plates that they needed so bad.

Hugh stepped forward again to a more central spot in the little group of leaders again. He could not tell if the Colonial was stressed or not. He just seemed to be standing there like a human shaped wall made of the best armor plate. "Well, what we need to know from your point of view is what did you think about them? I take it you have noticed that we have not put any more of that stuff on the market for sale after your last high bid. Why do you think that was? You have to have found out that we are making as much armor as we can. And now you know that we are looking to add a third shop to make even more on a daily basis." Hugh had not wanted to stop the sales, but he had been ordered by Max to stop any more public sales until after this meeting.

 _"What was this guy fishing for? Well one way to find out,"_ thought Bill. He quickly pushed away the idea of not telling the whole truth to these people. It seemed like they really wanted to know what he thought about those expensive slabs of flat armor plate. "We tested and then retested, those armor plates on my Flagship. I had my best people doing the evaluations and reviews. They were hands down better than anything I had ever heard about in testing from the R and D labs. Or for that matter even in defense periodicals from before the war started. It's roughly as good as what we put on our latest generation Battlestars like the Pegasus, but we've never been able to make it feasible for infantry or even small craft scale applications. Normally I would ask our only major scientific brain in the fleet, Baltar, if he had heard of anything like them before. But that is not an option at this time." Adama would rather kiss a Cylon's butt, than talk to that person again. He did not doubt that these Earthers knew some of the stories come out of the Refugee camp about him.

Bill let his face slip some, and in doing so. It let the other people in the room know that the Colonial did not know what was going on with this line of questioning. Bill did not notice the slip, and he needed to clear the thoughts out of his head about Baltar, and kept talking. "We tested them side by side with some Raider and Centurion hulks that we on board. It was as good as the Cylons stuff, or even better because it was thinner and massed less for a given area of coverage. Just as you and your people had advertised it would be."

Bill gave a deep frown to the group in the meeting. Then let them know why he had not asked that man. He later would tell Laura that he did not know why he told them about his feelings regarding the man. "I can't get near that frakker, at least until I'm sure I won't choke him to death with my bare hands. And yes, I and my staff have been wondering why you have not put anymore of the armor plates up for sale after the last auction. The betting pool has it, that you're setting it aside to stockpile, or you are using it to replace damaged armor from all the fighting against the Cylons." Bill stopped talking and quickly looked around the table. "So are you going to tell me? So I can close the pool, and make a lot of people very unhappy for the next few weeks?" Bill had not noticed that absence of new sales, until it had been brought up to him by Felix.

Before Bill could say more, a voice brought him back to the meeting. "I have one more question for you Admiral, before we get to that." This came again from Captain Kelly, and he had another sly smile on his face. "Did you notice that no one was bidding against you for those plates? Well a few were trying to get a deal on it at first. But once it went to a certain level, only the other Colonials were bidding against you to get to take them home." There had been eight different Colonial groups that had been identified by Major Weston as wanting to get those plates. This was not going to be told the Admiral. If he wanted to know something like that, he was going to have to have his people dig for it all on their own.

Adama had to send his brain back to three weeks ago for the event these people were so interested in. And yes, Kelly was right about who had been bidding in the small crowd. As each plate was put up for sale, the price was very low to start with. And when it reached certain points the bidders were fewer and fewer, and all Colonials in the end. "Now that you mention it, yes I did notice a few other ship captains bidding. Why was that?" Bill was trying to work the angles and even he was coming up blank, but he could tell that he was still missing something that was possibly very important.

Kelly tried not to smile any bigger than he already was, but he could not help it. "That run was a test production run of one of our machines that had just been repaired. It was not up to spec for what we are used to using, so it was set aside. They have fixed the problems, and we are now using the improved stuff for all of the warmachines that were brought in for repair. We made sure to fix them back up to fully operational status, before we packed them back down again. That did take much of the stock we had on hand. But the rate of returning equipment in need of repair is pretty steady. The bottleneck had been qualified repair teams to do the work to the standard we expect. So yes we have been using a lot of what we had been making to repair battle damage, and replacing our stockpile back to what it was when we got to this planet."

Hugh now jumped in with his own hands behind his back and a seriously look on his face. He was always that way when he was talking about what he called real numbers. Those were normally numbers that started at a million and went a lot higher. "You said that a newly built Mark Seven Viper and Raptors run between 300 and 600 million cubits when you were back on your home planets. How much would it cost to rearmor one of your Battlestars in something that tough, or just normally for that matter? Now I'm not talking about being able to do something like that all at once. Frankly, I don't know even if Northern Gun or the CS produces that much armor in a year. Much less using only the two almost three handmade machines, we have here on this whole planet." He looked around the group again and was trying to read their faces.

Adama had a tight smile and was about to vibrate out of his boots. It was only by some miracle that he was not hyperventilating. "I have no ideahow much it would cost to put a whole armored belt on a Battlestar, and neither would anyone else left alive in the fleet. I think that it would cost maybe in the tens of Billions of cubits to replace the armor belt on a Mercury class Battlestar. I read about it once, which was why they took most of the Old Girls armor off of her when she was on her way to the museum. It was to reuse it on other ships, instead of buying a new stock of the stuff. How would you want to do this? That is if you could make enough armor plate to do the job?" In Bill's mind's eye, he was seeing all of those exposed ribs of his ship. He knew how His old girl should look with all of the armor she was supposed to have on her old hull. Seeing that way her again would be amazing to his old eyes.

Kelly smiled with just a little of his teeth showing as the read the screen before looking back to the Colonial. "Now this is just a rough plan which we have worked on. When we start selling the armor again, you bid on it. But you can only buy up to ninety percent of what is for sale on any given day. That information will be posted at Warehouse One for everyone to know. I know you could use it all, but others need it also. If you buy it all up then there will be issues, down the road. We have seen it happen before. We will be making two grades of armor. The top grade takes longer and uses a lot more resource, but is better. The second grade will be just like what you have bought already, and should be cheaper. What you bid on is of no concern to us." Kelly stopped talking and gave a head to Hugh to finish up with all of the numbers.

Hugh was ready and pulled out a small cut sheet of paper with hand written notes on it. "We will need to have thirty percent of the end bid price to be paid out as is normal for a public auction. The rest of the balance will go into an account which we will draw on to pay for the first batch of pilot trainees from among our people. Then we need to come up with a plan on how to use the funds in those accounts. We were thinking that you come up with a number first for an older Mark II Viper, and then a new built Mark VII Viper and a Raptor. We don't need the numbers now. We can work that out later but I would like it before the next armor sale goes off. When you have some hard numbers to throw at us, please don't be greedy. Because if the price is too high, then we will call the whole deal off."

Adama nodded and pulled out a little paper note book from a jacket pocket and made some notes in. "I think, that would be a good idea." He gave a smile, but he was looking down at this paper note pad and no one could see it that well. _"If I had known what we were going to cover in this meeting, I would have given Starbuck a different task."_ The smile came off of his face as he thought about her, then again maybe not. "Now I have a request, which I was also asked to bring up tonight. It would seem that the available amount of leather is still in short supply. I have been asked to see if you will increase the hunting of the local large sharks to increase the supply of hides in the markets. The leather is needed to start replacing some of the worse worn clothing among my people, and a few other uses in the fleet." Bill did not want to cover how some of it was needed for blankets, beds, and even patching chairs.

This was not the first time the three Earth leaders had heard this particular request. One or the other of the Triumvirates had been getting the same message twice a day, every day for almost a month now from some Colonial who thought he had political power. It was now an official request, and needed to be addressed officially by them. Max took this one to give Kelly a break from the lime light, and the focus of the Colonial Admiral. "Admiral we have taken a lot of larger animals from the local area waters already in a very short amount of time. We have to manage what is taken, so we don't wipe out a part of the local food chain for a short term gain. We are slowly increasing the amount of fish we are harvesting from the sea. The new fishing locations are farther out than we have been using for the last few years. They are in the bay and outside of the bay, and let's not forget that they have to avoid every place we have hidden one of your ships."

Max stopped talking and when Adama did not seem to have a question just yet, he started speaking again. "Before you bring up the need to stockpile food and stuff, we are. Only about seventy-five percent of the food being caught is being sold on the open market. We have been buying it up on the dock, and processing it for long term storage. And by us, I'm talking about the little government here and paid for by taxes from our people. That goes for food as well as the leather that is coming into the dock off of those boats. We have to have jobs for people while we are on the trip coming up. We were thinking, so why not tanning and cloth manufacturing? If this is not a viable plan please let us know! We only have a few people that have those skills to turn items like that into clothing of high quality. We think that it would be another skill that needs to be passed around between our people."

Adama smiled to himself, these people were on the ball. _"They had tried to cover as many bases as they could. Even with the limited knowledge base on space travel, they were very sharp. And I bet that some of the more hide bound of my people will be in for a few rude surprise if they ever underestimated them."_ Bill had already heard people, and had read a few reports. It was about how backward they must be, if they did not have proper Vipers or even know about space travel. "I will pass along that you have started increasing the quota of fish harvesting, but it is expected to take a few weeks for the effect to be felt for the average person. I think we all should keep the fact that you're stockpiling some items quiet for now. I will limit that information to the President and some of her selected staff. I agree about keeping some things around for people to work on while we are travelling. We have found out that when people are bored, they have too much time on their hands to cause trouble. Having something to do, or maybe as important something new to learn will be a good thing." As Bill was talking imagined and replayed in his mind several events that were centered around Tom Zarek while on the run from the Cylons. Now maybe this time the recruiting grounds will not be so fertile for him to pull his crop of troublemakers.

Kelly looked back at Adama and this time his face was blank as a sheet of paper. "That is a good no information answer. Will your people be upset when they find out about the stockpiling of supplies, and that you knew about it?" Kelly wanted to reward the openness the Admiral was showing them. "I let you know that we knew about your people trying to modify a Viper and a Raptor with our weapons tech. I bet you have been wondering what we have been working on in our own back rooms?"

Now Kelly smiled, Adama and had a blank card player's expression on his face wondering what was about to be dropped on his lap. Kelly met it, with his own level gaze. "We've decided to let you know that we've collected a few wrecked Cylon Raiders and Heavy Raiders during the conflict with the Cylons. We have been taking them apart to see what makes them tick. We have also even been getting some help from a few of the Cylons POW's we collected along the way. We are not getting help from all of them, only a few which seem to truly want to help us. What they are telling us, is that their jump drives are faster, smaller, use less fuel per jump or at 'idle', and are longer ranged than any of yours on a class for class basis. When things calm down some, would you like to send some of your jump engineering people to be on the research teams we are already running?

Adama could not stop his eyebrows from flying almost off the top of his head, and his voice came out a bit louder than he had wanted it to. "You have working Cylon jumpdrives!" The Colonials had been trying to do the same thing, since Starbuck had brought that one Raider on board during one of her signature displays of derring-do. So far they have not had much luck knowing if one of those Cylon drives was good, much less start working on finding out how exactly the performance was different from one of their own. It would seem that they had some kind of safety system that activated the first time it detects a non Cylon who tries to access it in any way.

"Well that hit a nerve or something." Thought Kelly but this time he kept his face plain to hide some information. "Well that tells me a lot right off of the bat, Admiral. That you're focused in on the jump drives, and not that we have Cylons willing to work with us. We feel the same way, about the project."

Now Adama now made a face, like he had been kicked hard by a Centurion in the old family jewels. "I'm not like a lot of Colonials. As a matter of fact the reason we told Athena her child had died at birth. Was because we did not know what some other frakking crazy person might do to her and the little one. It was not like we could put them under twenty-four hour guard with two or three armed marines." His voice softened, but he kept the same volume. "If you have the chance, could you pass along to Helo and Athena something for me? It is that I will welcome their family back with opened arms, whenever they want."

Bill let his eyes focused against the far wall behind the group of Earthers about head height, and changed the subject a little. "That would give you one qualified pilot each for both a Viper and a Raptor already without the need for any training. Helo was trained as a fully qualified ECO, so he could do double duty in that position. They could help pick who you send to the training schools. They know what to look for in a candidate pilot, and they could even set up some pre-classes. That would set you up, so that you could have lot better prepared student. At lease better prepared than what I can do at the start of the classes."

"We will pass your message along as soon as we are done tonight. I think they well be glad that it came from you. Two groups not getting alone perfectly, but having to work together is not a new problem for the human race. We have some ideas we can talk about later that might smooth some things over. But they will only work if we have trust at our level, at least to start with." Kelly was talking, but the other three men were nodding in agreement at the words that were coming out of his mouth in a steady even tone.

Adama just nodded and checked his notes to be ready for the next topic. The meeting would be going on another hour. Amazingly it only ran a half an hour longer than had been planned for in the first place. But what Bill was looking forward to, was going to be at the very end of the meeting if he had to place a bet. That was the tour of the weapons mounted on each of the ships, and detailed information on their capabilities that he was going to be receiving. The weapons tour was to be followed by a quick meal, before he headed back to his ship sometime around local midnight.


	2. Chapter 2 Starbuck, Cards, an Alcohol

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome.

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 2: Starbuck, Cards, and Alcohol**

Kara Thrace and her husband Samuel Anders watched Admiral Adama pull away in the strange little open topped Hover car that had been set for him. Both were just staring as the amazing machine retreated, moving about three feet off the ground. It was one thing to hear about something like that, but to see something move cross county without wheels or treads was totally different.

They had been told repeatedly about the strange technologies that these Earthers had in everyday use, and Kara had seen some of their weapons and armor first hand, but being told one thing was a very different thing from understanding it.. The only thing that they had been told more about was that they really, did not like be called or referred to as the 13th Tribe or any derivative of that name.

Things were not completely right between Kara and Sam yet, but it was better than it had been even that morning, when they had first gotten out of bed. They still did not talk that much, while they walked all the way from the landing area to their destination. The pair had been told to follow the signs to the little make shift hotel. It looked like they would be doing so, each alone in their own thoughts. For the most part.

For a while after the Colonials had made better contacts with these people, the few of them who stayed overnight did so in the open field or in camping tents. It was not long before someone inside the Settlement came up with the idea that they could make some money offering rooms for rent to the Colonials. This was even before the major coordinated attacks by the Earthers on the Cylons began. By the third week, a building was set aside for these who wanted to stay overnight and not pitch a camping tent or sleep under the open sky. It was not cheap but it also was not that expensive for a night.

Someone on Adama's staff had already contacted the hotel owners and adjusted the arrival date. A week's stay had already been paid in advance for the two even before they left the Galactica. If they ended up needing to stay longer, then it would be more cost effective to buy a house or have one built. One that would be only for them, or the Colonial military, or other VIP's to use after Starbuck had completed her mission. That kind of thing tended to happen when you had government help and money to start something.

Just before Kara and Sam boarded the Raptor, one of Bill's staff told them that if they bought a home, it would have to be turned over to the Fleet for the Admiral's use or other official uses when Kara was done with this task. She would have to bring it up with the Admiral when it was time to make that decision.

Right now, over a dozen new homes were being built for different groups or families of Colonials that wanted to stay in the Settlement on a more regular if not permanent basis. It was the latest wave of building that the Settlement was putting up to help support the new migration. These groups were the ones that could either afford to have a home built, or might have skills that the leadership of the Settlement thought were rare or important enough that the services they could offer - for a fee of course - justified it. It did not take long for a person visiting to get the feeling that this was a growing and happy little town. Both were things that these two Colonials had not seen much of in over a year. It was another shock for the two to have to deal with. How do you deal with happiness when all you have had for so many months was misery?

It was just flatly an amazing sight for the two Colonials to see, and that was just seeing the happy people moving around them. The pair did not go through the nearest gate. That gate was intended for vehicles. They instead used a smaller gate set up just for people to use. It made traffic in and out of the village a lot quicker.

Now the pair were able to see the Wall in greater detail while they waited to be processed through a very small pedestrian gate along with about ten others. Starbuck had a deep background in the military, but it was mostly limited to flying and weapons. She had however, like everyone in the Colonial Fleet, kept up on her ground combat qualifications before the war broke out. Anders had personally led a resistance cell on Caprica for many months after The Fall. So he also knew something about fixed defenses. More importantly he knew what worked and what did not work against Cylons from firsthand experience.

Their heads were constantly moving left, right, up and down, till they were several steps on the other side of the great wall that protected this human village on all sides. It was an impressive sight, and seemed to wrap their minds in reassurances of protection. It was like a blanket or stuffed animal to a young kid to keep the monsters at bay. Or an adult looking out of a ship's window to see a battlestar floating nearby.

It was Anders who first stopped and turned back to look at the massive concrete back wall. It was only a few eye blinks for him to understand that it was the true core of the wall's strength against any ground attack that might be launched against it. Starbuck was looking a different way, so she almost walked into the stopped man. It was only her innate ability to know what was going on around her that stopped her from embarrassing herself in public. Her sudden stop still was not as smooth as it should have been for her. This meant that something slipped out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop it. Then again, stopping her mouth from acting without her mind's consent had never been among her strongest skills.

"What the frak!" The words were out of her mouth before her brain could catch up to what had happened to her. Sam was face to face with her, but was not making eye contact as he looked up at the back of the wall they had just walked through. It would have been so easy for him to look down and kiss her, or for her to lean up to kiss her husband. Neither person did.

Anders just pointed to the firing step mounted and only visible on this side of the wall. It was well engineered, following the over ten foot tall metal monster with vertical columns to support it at regular intervals. Even so, the sound engineering should not have been able to support the Earther guard clad in heavy power armor walking over it. Not to mention that there would be even more armor clad defenders up there if the wall was ever attacked. His voice was low, almost hoarse as his eyes went bigger and bigger. "Just look at that thing!" His distress was obvious as his mind tried to process what he was looking at. "That wall is what, maybe only four or five inches thick concrete, up there behind the wooden outer wall? And the ledge is even thinner! But it's holding that much mass up there."

His head was doing a slight shake from left to right. "I don't think that it's made out of your everyday concrete that you would use in your backyard project, do you?" It took a minute for his brain to catch up, and his head went to one side. He was lost in thought for a few seconds. He had been a sports star later in life, but he had also done very well in the premiere higher education schools that fed the professional leagues.

The coach had always tried to steer him to the easy classes. Less time spent on books was more time on the practice court, after all. Not Anders. Who wanted a degree in underwater basket weaving or something like that, any way? He had taken math and engineering classes for his four years in that very expensive school. "Well, they could rebuild the whole thing every few weeks. But that seems like that would be more trouble than it's worth in the long term." By now he had seen hundreds of different images of the different types of Earther combat equipment. So the massive warmachine on the ledge of the tall wall, was not the most shocking thing he was seeing. It was the strength of the engineering the Earthers had done while in hiding, and that he was now seeing up close for the first time. So much for these people being light in the civil engineering department.

Starbuck nodded now looking at what her husband was talking about, and letting her mind work on what she was seeing. The military part of her mind kicked into high gear as she processed what she might be seeing. "I think these people have spent a lot longer killing each other than we have. At least on the ground. Makes you wonder why that is?" She gave herself a little shake as she was speaking.

The Colonials had a very bloody history all of their own. Colonials had been in space for hundreds of years and the only time they had not been at war with each other, hot or cold, was when they were at war with the Cylons. "Don't frakking ask me how I came up with that idea. It just sort of popped in my head." She did not want to think about killing anything right now, unless it was a cow of some kind. She would be game for killing one of those with her bare hands if it meant that she could get a good thick steak out of the deal.

Anders put his arm around his wife and gave her a sideways hug, and then used the other arm to turn her eyes away from the wall. He had the same flash of thought, and it also scared him down to the core of his being. Now inside the Settlement, they still had plenty of light to see by. Compared to when they were out near the landing pad and outside of the gate. One would think that it would be darker under the massive trees than it would be out in the open. But there were pools of light provided by small lamps hanging all over the place.

The Settlement did not have any straight roads or even any straight paths within its walls. They all more or less meandered around trees and buildings in some random order. The layout was more concerned with protecting buildings from being seen from above rather than ease and speed of navigation. Or any other reason for that matter. The Settlement was not that large, holding a little over five thousand people, all within the area enclosed by the fortifications. But at the same time it was spread out over an area that was almost as large as the New Caprica refugee camp that had been holding almost thirty thousand Colonials at one time.

To make things easier for the Colonials to navigate around the area, the locals had put up wooden signboards under the pools of light. They were complete with arrows pointing to the most popular or important buildings that any one might be looking for. These sign posts were placed at every crossroad. The two only needed those guides as a basic starting point to know that they were going in the right direction.

They had been told that the place they were going to be staying in was near the main eating areas of the village. So they just followed their noses and roamed around the area watching people as they went. They had time to spare and it was relaxing. Far more so than having Cylons trying to kill them all the time.

It took them longer to get to their new home, because they both had to fight the urge to stop and eat at the few small food carts serving street food along the way. In the end they were able to ignore temptation long enough to move the last few hundred yards to the marked house between stops.

The house, to Anders' eyes, looked a lot like the type of building he had lived in before. It was not unlike what his team managers had rented out for the team to have some preseason practice, all far away from the nosy press people that hung around them like hungry flies. It was not so much a log cabin in the deep fores as it was a rustic home built under the huge local trees for some shade.

It was complete with a person, more like a boy, sitting outside of the home, at some kind of table built with twin bench seats attached. The boy looked bored as he read a hard backed book by the light supplied by a device attached to some sort of billed hat on his head. He got up to his feet as he noticed the two Colonials coming towards the building. The same one he was stationed in front of, and the one where he was waiting for someone to show up. Sometimes, two plus two does equal four.

The boy looked like he was only about ten years old or so, to the eyes of the two approaching colonials. They were surprised enough to miss a step, when he spoke to them in perfect Caprican. "Name please?" He waited patiently for the two to reply, but otherwise did not move. It was almost like he was not human. Sam added four years to his age and figured that he had seen too much death in his short life already.

Kara looked first at the boy, then back at Sam who was looking back at her with a confused look on his own face. She looked back at the standing kid, and tilted her head wondering if this was some kind of joke or something. Then again, it was not like she had anything else to do right then. "Captain Kara Thrace, in a party of two. Is this the right place to settle in? We came down from the flagship. We were told that we had a room rented, but they did not tell me under what name it might be listed under." Starbuck was thinking that this kid might be a Colonial, but at this point he could have been an Earther for all she knew.

At first the boy did not say anything. Then he looked down, pulled out an electronic pad from his half opened coat, and wrote something on the glass-like screen with his only slightly dirty looking finger. He even made a show of checking the timepiece on his left wrist, or so the couple thought. When all the show and dance was over, he stowed the digital pad back into the pocket that had been its previous home.

He started talking at the pair of warriors in that flat tone, still in Caprican. "I have checked you in. There is an FAQ sheet in the bedroom marked with a 'B' on the access door, written out in both English and Caprican. The bedrooms are all the same size, before you ask to change them."

He pulled out a metal key and waved them to follow along behind him. Then, picking up his right leg, he spun and stepped over the bench. Repeating the maneuver with his other leg freed him completely from the picnic table and its attached bench seating. Craning his neck to make sure the two Colonials were indeed following him, he started walking to the covered access point with a fixed wood and metal door.

The young boy turned sideways, so that the two could see how to use the key to open the door. It was a bit different from what the average Colonial was used to, but it was not so different that they could not figure out after being shown how to use it. As the boy was showing how to unlock the door he started running through his script. "You will need to make sure you lock the door each time you leave the house. Earthers are pretty good about not entering a home without permission, but you always have a few crooks walking around a village this size. You do also have to worry about some other Colonials wanting to collect a few things that don't belong to them."

"We've had that a few times. I don't know if it was for some souvenirs or for reselling on the black market or something. If something comes up missing, you will be charged the cost for a replacement of the missing item. So I suggest that you keep an eye out if you have friends come down to visit you. But it's up to you. You're paying the bills for this place, not them." The boy did a slight shrug.

The boy had done this speech so many times already that he knew it by heart. As he said the last word, he opened the heavy wooden door. With a push of his open hand, he let it swing freely all the way into the building. He stepped inside the wood built structure, and started talking again as soon as the pair crossed the threshold behind him. He did not look to see if they were following him or not. He knew were they should be, if they were smart. In truth, he did not care if they were there or not. He had a job to do, and certain things had to be covered for that job to be considered a job well done. Missing out on a detail or two could lose him this very nice paying job.

"This is the main living area. From here, you have access to your room, the living and seating area, a cooking area, and on the other side of the fireplace is a covered grow house to help with any green fever you might be suffering from." He used his right hand and to indicate all the different areas as he identified each one.

The boy was walking around the main living area as he spoke, but stopped after taking the two of them through the open door to the attached green house. "I did not think I had to say this, but after someone removed some of the plants, well I have to say it now to everyone who rents this place, and make sure you understand what I am talking about."

The little/old boy set his feet and pointed to the rows of green that made up four table like lanes. "You cannot remove the plants. You can take no more than two blooming flowers a rent day, and you may clip some of the food items. They are marked with a green ink mark on the tables where they're growing on. But a cook will come in once a day for the noontime meal, and also inventory the green house. Yes, there is a camera recording in this room, just letting you know. You will not be able to find it, so don't even try."

The boy had a knowing look that said many had been told this, and many had failed to find the camera. "If you want to have a fire in the fireplace that is okay, and dried wood is at the end of the building by the table I was waiting for you at. The heat from the fire place will help keep the green house warm, and lower your overall bill. The other two bedrooms are empty, and are not scheduled to be occupied... yet. But that can change at any time and without much notice. I would suggest that you always be dressed whenever you leave your sleeping quarters. Please now follow me to your bedroom. Most things are common to what we as Colonials are used to having in a real hotel room. But we have found through trial and error, that some things need to be pointed out to our guests."

That was the first hint that this was one of the few children to make it out of the Colonies alive. It also explained the shell shocked look and old eyes.

The bedroom was nice with medium sized glass windows on two sides of the stucco covered wooden walled room. They were just big enough to be used to get out of the building in case of an emergency, like a fire, or maybe even to fire a weapon out of. They also just happened to provide enough light during the day to read by. All without needing man made lighting devices unless there was a bad storm blowing outside. The guide showed them the 'black out curtains' that they must pull close at night, or face a fine that sounded painfully expensive to the Colonials. The boy made Starbuck sign an inventory list, followed by a statement that she understood the briefing she had just been subject to. Now with the paper work done, the guide showed them the bathroom.

The en suite bathroom was a real treat. It had a shower, but it also had a built in stone bathtub that looked like it could hold three people very comfortably. Bathtubs were not something you found on most spaceships, and she had not had access to one of those mythical devices for years now. They took up a lot of space. A ship would have to carry around all the water it would need for such a thing in the first place. A battlestar carried enough water, certainly, but the space for the tub itself was a premium. Not to mention the added strain that the recycling systems would then be subject to.

In the Colonies the only places that normally had soaking tubs of this size were very high end hotels, resorts, and homes of only the very wealthy. Starbuck had not seen, or used one for that matter, in at least a decade or more. Anders, on the other hand, being a sports super star, had more experience with them than any member of the opposite sex would want to hear about. He was looking forward to seeing if they felt as good as he remembered. Even if this one did not have the built in jets on the sides and back that he thought it should have. The slope of the back of the tub looked good though. Good enough that he was tempted to try it out even with clothes on, and the boy watching. Fortunately, it was only a very quick, fleeting thought that he had.

After he showed them the highly prized room. Starbuck walked the boy back to the still open wooden door and locked it behind the boy's back, before returning to the bedroom. Anders by the time she returned to the room had put away most of their packed items in a wooden chest of drawers in one side of the bedroom. Starbuck set the last few items which she wanted to keep closer at hand where she wanted them.

Sam was watching her when she pulled the small hold out pistol from her backpack. She put it under her pillow with a smooth grace that should have sent shivers down his spine. Anders was still looking around the room when she did it, and had only seen her do it out of the corner of one eye. He did not say anything at the sight of the weapon.

When the weapon was put away, Anders decided to break the silence that had been filling the room after the young guide had left the room. "Kara, what do you want to do first? Bath, check out what a 3D TV is, or get some hot food?"

Anders was hoping for the first one, but would settle for the last if he had to. He had schooled his face into stone, so that he hoped Starbuck would not know which one of those options he wanted to do first. He wanted Starbuck to make the decisions. After being in a position where she had no control for so long, he had been told by one of the doctors that she might have some control issues when she was released out of the med bay. And he knew that Starbuck had control issues even before they landed on this planet.

Starbuck looked around the room, and let her eyes settle on the 'Master Bathroom' as it had been described to her with longing eyes. But her stomach made a loud noise that carried across the room. Letting the two of them know what it thought should be the first on the list of items to take care of. "I think we need to get some hot food first. If we fill that tub, we won't be going any frakking where. At least not any time soon, if you have your way Mr. Sports Star."

Kara raised an eyebrow and gave him the 'look' as she said 'If you had your way'. She hit her husband on the shoulder with a light smacking sound. It was not the normal Starbuck punch he had grown used to over the last year. This one was a lot softer, but she was getting closer to normal in that column, he figured. Well, as normal as could be if the word was used to describe her to the average sane person. She reached into an inner pocket of her field jacket, and pulled out a ball of some small paper rectangles. "The Old Man did give us these things to use for food 'til we get set up. It would be a shame not to use them." A ghost of a smile even crossed her face, as she waved what the Earthers used for currency lightly in the still air of the bedroom.

That was all it took for Anders' own mouth to start watering. The food he had been eating lately was a lot better since the Battlestars had returned. It still made the idea of eating some solid food extremely desirable to any human that was not in an 'I love me jacket'. That type of jacket was, interestingly enough to the two Colonials if they ever found out, designed the same on the Colonies and Earth, with a zip up the back.

"You're right, it would be a shame to not use them." He held out one elbow for Starbuck to loop her arm into. She just looked at it for a seconds before shaking her head to the sides. It was just too soon for that much contact.

* * *

The two of them walked out of the rented building. If not touching, they at least stayed close to each other. They stopped to make sure to lock each door with the metal keys they had been given a little while earlier. They just shook their heads as they checked to make sure the doors were secured correctly. With the technology that the Earthers had, and that they had seen so far today, one would have expected something more high tech than a metal lock and key to secure the building. Or any building for that matter. But using what was on hand had been drilled into the Colonials' heads for months now.

It was almost reassuring at some level to know that even these Earthers had some limits to what they could do on this cold, wet mud ball. The myth of their technology was growing more quickly as the number of Colonials meeting with the Earthers increased at a rate of almost three to one. It was like nothing any Colonial had ever experienced since the days of the first settlements of the twelve colonial planets.

The layout of the Settlement lent itself to having all of the communal areas on a little rise near the center of the town. It also was only a short trip to the water docks for their supplies. It was basically the straightest line in the village. This just happened to be near same area that the lodging house the Colonials were staying in was located.

The first stop for the two Colonials was the massive building called Warehouse One. It had been displaying news and other information that might be useful or items of interest in both English and Caprican for weeks now. It was the outside crowd, and more importantly the crowd noise that drew them to this building.

They wanted something to eat, but the only things available in the modified warehouse were of the fast food type items and meals that catered to locals in a rush. It was both fast and cheap, but also very simple fare as far as food went. It these two ever saw a bowl of soup again, it would be too soon in both of their books. They were on their way again, not long after completing only a single loop around the inside of the building.

The hardest part of leaving was when a 'pick-up' game of something called Basketball was called out. It had started inside the building seemingly out of the blue. Anders was drawn to the odd bouncing ball used for the game like a moth to a campfire. Starbuck could sympathize. She had been good enough at sports to consider playing professionally until a busted knee forced a change in career plans.

Still, they had already established that they would be getting food first. So she had to grab something that he liked even more to get him to leave the building. At least more or less of his own free will. If one thing that Kara know how to do very well, it was how to get someone's undivided attention very quickly.

"Come on, you frakker. You can come back later. While I'm at work." Starbuck was pulling him none too gently by the front of his pants with her right hand. This did not go unnoticed, and the cat calls started in both Caprican and English by certain groups of males that had seen the display. Starbuck just smiled and used her free hand to wave back at the noise makers, as they left the large building with her husband still in tow. Once outside of the building, she released the man's private parts.

After seeing a group of people moving away, they set off in the same general direction, following the smells in the air. The group mostly ignored them and kept walking and talking. From their hand movements, she had to assume that they had been discussing a battle of some kind. Again Starbuck was mentally kicking herself for not trying to learn more of the local lingo since she had been released from that Cylon made Hades hole. She had the time, after getting released, but the only thing she had done was sit on her bunk and stare at the walls.

"Well, it's too late now." She said aloud and shrugged her shoulders. The group they were kind of following entered another homey looking building. Rather than look like a public building from the outside, it had a lived in vibe. The type that screamed that a woman lived there. Also, the pink window coverings visible from the outside gave it away to the two Colonials.

Sam was looking around now that they were stopped again, and it was noticeably darker now. It seemed like the smells were coming from two different directions, and both smelt very good to him right about then. It was like ice cream to someone on a hot summer's day. Only after a few seconds did he realize his wife had said something. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

Starbuck just shook her head in a negative motion. "I was just thinking out loud I guess. I just thought I would like to know what everyone is saying around here. I feel like they're all talking about me, somehow." Kara was used to being talked about, and back home at least she would have known what was being said about her. That way she could ether punch someone in the face, or do something a little more on the outlandish side to prove her point.

Anders just pulled Starbuck closer, and kept his arm draped over her shoulders. He picked a direction at random from the smells, and the two walked toward the smell of unknown food being cooked. The first shack they came to was surrounded by tables not unlike the one outside the hotel they were staying in. The plates that people were eating off of were piled high with some kind of meat. That was taken as a good sign by the pair, but that was all they could figure out about the menu.

They were deep in thought as they read the menu posted near one of the entrances to the place that had people exiting with full plates of strange food. That was until someone cleared his throat behind them, a little on the loud side.

Starbuck went up off the ground like she had been hit with a cattle prod, and spun in the air as if by magic. Her hand went to the empty spot that would have held her CP M45 in its synth-fabric mesh tactical holster. Instead all her hand did was slap the side of the fatigue pants she was wearing. Sam was only a little slower, turning to see who had snuck up behind them while they had been reading the prices and food list.

It was nice of the locals to like guns as much as she did, so it should not have been out of place for her to be packing a visible military weapon at her thigh. It was just too bad that she had left the weapon at the lodging house when they left it to go hunting for something to eat. After all you could not take your sidearm to the mess hall or shower room. She had been in the Cylon cell so long, that she had forgotten the feel of having a weapon on her hip. It took her a fast second to recognize the man that had come up behind her as not being a threat.

"Chief! What are you doing here?" The last she had heard was that he had been locked away in his shop, working on something for the Old Man. She did a head to toe scan of the older man in the light coming off of the post that held the menu. He looked a lot different than the last time she had seen him, and in a good way.

That last time had been only a day or two before the Cylons had surprised them again and taken over the planet. She had been told that he had been on a three day bender and was possibly still dead drunk.

Kara got her heart rate back under control and went fishing. "I heard you were back on the payroll."

Galen Tyrol was wearing an enlisted Colonial uniform again. But this time it was clean and almost inspection ready. He even had what looked like a fresh haircut and a fresh shave. And it looked like both had been within the last dozen hours.

Tyrol stuck out his hand first to Starbuck, and then to her husband. Each of them shook the offered hand and smiled back, and greetings were passed around. Tyrol had noticed the way Kara's hand had gone for her missing holster, but he was not going to say a word about it to anyone.

"Good to see you again, and also glad you're moving around again." He tilted his head toward the wall mounted menu for this location. "Are you both, looking to get some real food into you? And it's your first time in a strange town, right?" The last part of his statement was part of an old and very famous joke. One that had made a comeback into popular use over the last few weeks among the Colonials like a ship's atmosphere out of a busted air lock.

Anders gave the Colonial Deck Chief a sly grin. He also was happy to see the change in the man. There were also a lot of rumors about the roles he had played in fighting the Cylons planet side. If even half of those were true, this man was going to be written about in the history books, sometime in the near future. "Yeah, but we have no idea what most of it is. And if the price is too high or not."

Tyrol nodded. "I had the same problem when I first came here. At least now they have almost all of the items written out in Caprican. This place has a nice shark steak, and it's the cheapest food in the Settlement besides the soups over at the Warehouse. If you have the scrip there are two other types of food you can get, both of which are not too far from here."

Starbuck was thinking, _"well why not find out what is out there, at least now we won't have to figure out if we're being robbed."_ While that was in her head, her mouth was saying something different. "What are the others? We have some money, but I have to watch my spending this early."

She had known the Chief for years now, and she respected him for lots of reasons. One that came to mind right then was that you very rarely surprised him. He seemed to know what was going on all the time on board the ship. He might even know why she had been sent down from the Galactica in the first place. Maybe he could help. After all how could it hurt?

"Admiral Adama wants me to use my supply skills to help get some hard to find supplies for the fleet. Think you have the time to help us get settled in a little?" Starbuck shot him a look and then slowly raised an eyebrow in question. That was the only hint she gave of a bigger plan in motion.

Tyrol eyes shot up to his forehead. "Supplies? Skills?" Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. He had a very quick mind. Always had going back as far as he could remember. Now that his drinking was under control again, it was as sharp as it ever had been in his life. "Oh! The gambling house. That should be fun... for you. Good luck, and I would suggest that you don't get caught cheating. That is if you're the type to go that way. These people really like making examples of people. Like the ones that they caught breaking their laws. I'm just glad the Old Man didn't ask me to help with that."

Tyrol let a huge smile plaster his face until all you could see were teeth and hair. "Well, it's nice to see someone else get the special missions. Now food, that is a lot easier." He patted his noticeably thicker belly. "The most expensive place to eat is a place that serves real red meat. It's not cow, but it's a local mammal of some kind, that they can catch sometimes. They're only open when they have meat to sell, I know that they will be open tonight. The next level down from that, but still more expensive than this place, is what they call the 'The Chicken Shack'. That's where I'm going. If you're going to ask me, don't waste your time at the other high end place. The red meat has an odd taste to me, so I like the chicken and eggs dishes more. I'm heading that way, if you two want to join me for dinner?"

Anders jumped into the conversation going on between the pair of military people, before Starbuck screwed something up somehow. His stomach letting him know what it wanted with a slight grumbling sound. "That one sounds great Chief. You don't mind the company?"

He did not want to spend the first night on the ground with the other man. Not if he did not really want them to join him for a sit down meal. Sam was hoping that he could use some of that time to try to pick his brain, to find out more about the locals. He was supposed to have spent the most time with them out of all the other Colonials, so far.

Tyrol smiled at them, and a little glint colored his eyes for just a second. "I'm meeting with a friend of mine there, but we always could use some new company to talk to." He gave them a lazy smile, which quickly turned into a knowing grin. "That is, if he remembers to show up tonight. If not, I know he will make it to the gambling hall some time tonight. He's not that good at the games, but at least he knows when to stop, before he loses too much on the card tables." Tyrol gave a slight shrug. "It's just his way of blowing off steam and stress. He's the one that helped me fit in with these people, when I first got here." Galen looked up slightly as he mind played back some of those early days. Some were good memories and others were just okay. None of them were that bad, when you compared them to what he had for memories of the Refugee camp.

Starbuck smiled back at the Deck Chief, and Anders tensed up. That smile she had just used was not of the fun or joy filled type. It more was the one she used when she was about to deliver a zinger of an insult to someone.

"Chief, I didn't know you went that way." The mischievous smile still on her face showed just how immensely pleased she was at herself for making the verbal jab. Sam turned white and looked towards the top of the trees over there head.

Chief Tyrol had been around the block a few items in the Colonial Navy, and he just gave her a look that could peel paint off a Viper. And then delivered his own verbal counterpunch. "I don't Starbuck, but just remember. I still have access to your Viper, when... if... you get cleared to fly one again." Tyrol dropped his head down a little to look at her with an evil grin. "I would hate to have your waste recycling line get plugged up on a long patrol again. Sir." He gave her a just try me grin aimed right at Starbuck, and his face was very still. This line was not a threat. It was him telling her that escalation was a word in his vocabulary and he was not afraid to use it.

Starbuck for some reason could only make an odd looking face and started to sputter, but no one could understand what she was trying to say. Then she started to turn redder and redder as the seconds ticked by and amazingly, her mouth still did not let one coherent word pass through her lips.

That exact problem had come up on a long ranged mission, just before they had found this planet. It had not been a good flight for Starbuck. Neither had been the cleanup that had needed to be done after she had brought her craft back home. Any plug in that line should have been found during the preflight checks. The one that she should have done before launching into space. In other words, it had been her fault. So it had been up to her to clean up the mess when she landed. And it had to be done to the exacting standards of the Deck Chief, before she could leave the hangar deck to clean herself up.

She was lucky her husband did not add to her embarrassment by laughing at her discomfort. Instead he defused it quite nicely. "That sounds like a winner to me. Please lead us to this fine chicken shack, which you speak of so highly, Chief." He gestured the other man to lead the way with a flourish. The same way he had seen on an old entertainment show a long time ago.

* * *

The walk in the dark was not long, and to both men's utter amazement. Starbuck did not say a word until she ordered her fried chicken, real 'egg salad', and fired potatoes from the clerk. The three Colonials did not talk as they partook of the bounty on their plates made out of some kind of blue plastic. It would have diminished the food they were eating.

After living so long on survival bars and algae soup they wanted to remember every bite they were taking. That was one of the things that the locals looked out for. It told them something about a new face walking among them. That that someone was fresh off the ships. They all did the same thing that this pair of Colonials were doing now.

The cooks loved it that someone was appreciating the effort they put into cooking the meal for them to more than fill their stomachs. Others however, were not as happy to see this reaction happening so near to them. The Colonials that made their first trip to the Settlement tended to cause the most trouble for everyone else calling that place home.

Tyrol looked up from the small mound of bones that now occupied his plate, and waited for the other two Colonials to be ready to talk again. They did not seem ready to talk just then, so he took a few more bites of a side dish of thick cut fried potatoes, and waited quietly some more. After a few more stops-and-gos, he could not wait any longer. By the look of their plates they should almost be done with their meal. Starbuck was not known for not causing trouble seemingly out of nowhere. If the opportunity arose for her to stir the pot, if she would. He wanted to cover a few items a little more deeply, before she did something Starbuck at exactly the wrong time.

"The chicken was going down in price steadily. That is, until a few weeks ago." Tyrol was looking right at Starbuck as he spoke.

Starbuck rose to the bait that had just been offered to her. Between bites, and a mouth still full of an odd mix of eggs, meat, and potatoes, she tried to speak. "What happened?"

Tyrol leaned back in his chair, and he was not smiling. He was trying to make a point, and he took on the mean NCO look just so he could get his point across to the two. "A couple of our people decided that they did not want to pay for a meal of meat. So they got this great idea among them. They broke into one of the chicken yards in the village. I don't know if you know it or not, but when a chicken gets too old, it stops laying eggs. This is only after two years or so of egg laying, for the types of animals that the Earthers brought with them. When they stop laying any eggs on a regular basis, they end up in the kitchen, and then on the plate of someone who has the money to buy it."

Tyrol stopped talking and took a sip of yellow colored fluid. "Now these brain trust employees broke into a breeding area. And not only did they get caught in the act, but they also let about two hundred chickens, a mix of male and female, out of the main pen before they were caught by a passing patrol of guards."

"They were only able to catch about ten hens in the night, before the rest went over the wall and got lost in the forest. This cut into the number of chickens that will get older, and it cut into the number that they can have in the early stages of life. Before, when a chicken started to slow down the egg laying, off they went into the cooking pot. Now they have to keep them until they fully stop laying more eggs for a while under close observation."

"It's also increased the cost of putting guards on all of the chicken houses every hour of every day and night. That cost has been passed on to everyone who now eats anything from the remaining animals. And now fewer people can have chicken meat. At least for now, until they make up the numbers for those lost animals. It did not gain us, Colonials, any friends. And it won't be forgotten anytime soon by the locals." Tyrol had put his hands flat on the plate and bone covered table.

Anders put the freshly and very well stripped chicken breast bone he was holding down on his plate, adding it to the small pile of bones that he had already stripped with his fingers and mouth. "Frak!" He now noticed some of the looks coming from some of the locals. And what they might mean to him and his wife. "What did they do to them? The ones that caused the problem? I take it by what you said, that they were caught with evidence of the crime." Ander stopped looking around, and was now looking at Tyrol with question eyes.

The Chief smiled, an evil smile, back to the sports star turned resistance leader. "Oh yeah. They were caught that night. Literally red handed, and covered with feathers. They're doing every messy, smelly, or sweaty nasty job that the Earthers can come up with for the next nine months. If they do anything else wrong, the Earthers will add another year to the hard labor sentence that they were already given. They're also not getting a nice warm place to sleep, after their dozen hours of labors. Before you say something, no their health is not at risk. But they will think twice about stealing anything again. It might even stop others from trying the same dumb frakking move in the future."

Starbuck looked up from her plate, some half chewed greens still hanging out of her mouth. She asked her question as she kept chewing on those greens. "Can they do that? That seems kind of harsh for trying to take a few small food animals? It's not like they killed someone or do something like stealing someone's clothes. Won't the Quorum try to get them turned over to the black shirts, and let them deal with any broken laws?" She did not have a problem with the punishment that had been given to the would be thieves. But she wanted to know what she might expect if or when she crossed some of these people's laws. She knew the normal Colonial laws that she had a tendency to break.

Tyrol still had that look on his face. It was not a friendly look, but it also was not openly hostile ether. "Oh I heard they tried. A few times already. But the local leaders in the village have a backbone a kilometer wide, and are not afraid to smack someone down if they feel they deserve it. They are called the Triumvirate, and they just reminded the Quorum that this..." The head mechanic used his arms to point to the area around him, in an absent minded wave to indicate he was referring to the whole planet. "...Is their planet by law, and they make the laws here. Not the Quorum. Or anyone else, for that matter. Colonial or not."

Tyrol's eye was still locked on the Viper pilot. "As for the punishment, let's just say that a lot of the Earthers wanted blood. Stealing is not allowed around here. It is a capital crime, just like it was back in New Caprica. I looked it up not that long ago. They put to death people who were caught stealing before those little frakkers came around. They have a list of all of the people who have committed crimes. And the punishments given to each person for the crime that they committed. They call it public record and it's posted on their information network."

Galen stopped talking and had a lost look on his face for just a second, as a new thought jumped to the front of his brain. "It might be something our people might want to copy in the future. It kind of shows that it doesn't matter who you might be in the world, you do not get away with doing something wrong. So letting that bunch off with less than a year of hard labor is a slap on the wrist. And that, Starbuck, is another reason some of the locals aren't too happy with us right now. They think that their government's already bowing down to ours. Setting up a double standard on how the laws are going to be enforced. They're worried that their leaders are setting the tone for punishment of other crimes that Colonials might commit. When you go by Warehouse One next time, you can take a look at those public records for yourself. All you have to do is ask anyone working there, and they will show that list to you."

This tirade was stopped when a little girl came up to Galen's side. She started pulling on his jacket sleeve in short, but sharp looking jerks on the fabric with her small little hands. When he looked down and made eye contact, she handed him a slip of folded up colored paper. He opened the folded paper, and read what was written there with a practiced ease. He pulled out a pen with a blue outer covering of some kind, and jotted something down on the slip of paper in short quick movements. Tyrol reread the note and made one change to the note that he had made, and then handed it back to the little girl.

When she took the refolded slip, she was off, running at a pace that only kids that young had the energy for. Tyrol watched her leave the eating area, before looking back to the two Colonials seated with him. He shrugged. "My friend was running late again, so he told me that he's picking something up to eat somewhere else tonight. The message he just sent is that he's gonna be waiting at the Gambling Hall for me. Do you all want to follow me over there, or you going to call it an early night?" If he had been talking to the old Starbuck that he had known for a couple of years, he would have known what way she would have jumped at this question. Now, after what the Cylons had done to her for so long, he was not so sure.

Starbuck wiped her mouth and hands with a rough wood pulp paper napkin that had come with her meal and balled it up. Now covered with grease stains, the ball of cheaply made wood sourced paper went right into the center of her now empty plate. She had a grin on her face that was almost normal. It might have been the food or the company, but right now she was feeling good. Today had turned out to be one of the top ten days she had had in the last few months. "Let's go! I could use a drink, and see what I'm going to be doing to make some money."

Her husband just shook his head slightly from side to side, but he also had a slight smile on his face. He had seen Kara's face light up at the thought of going to the Gambling Hall. That look was one of the many things that he had been missing from his wife since he had gotten her back from the dead. _"So much for checking out the tub tonight",_ he thought to himself. He did not let his thoughts show on his face, though. He was just glad to see that his wife had just now seemed to have started an upward trend in her recovery from the mental trauma the Cylons had given her.

* * *

With that decided by the group at large, if not fully agreed to, they were soon leaving their table. However they did not go directly to the hall that Starbuck was looking forward to. They did not really have to go back to the lodging house, but Starbuck had to pick up her loaded sidearm and its low slung thigh holster. Now that she knew the weapon was missing, it was driving her to distraction. She knew that distraction was not the way to win in any gambling games.

The Gambling Hall was right next to Warehouse One. It was not that far of a walk from where Kara was going to be hanging her hat and calling home. The night air made the already short distance even easier to travel. While the three of them were walking under the trees, more than a dozen locals would alter their paths to greet the Deck Chief. More than one of those greetings were even given in passable Caprican when not in the local tongue. Kara shot her husband a look, which was returned. The Chief was well liked by more than a few of these strangers.

The Gambling Hall on the outside looked just like any of the dozen or so other buildings nearby. Or the three other same sized buildings that the group had passed on the way to its location. It looked like a house. Only a bit larger in length and width than the others that were known to be homes.

The only differences on the outside of the building were the number of people standing around smoking, drinking, and eating outside of it. It was not as many as were at one of the eating places, but it was a close second. What they did not know was that the lighting restrictions had been relaxed as long as there was a battlestar in orbit. This helped keep people moving around the Settlement a lot later than was the norm.

It was a real party atmosphere complete with wood fires burning in dug in ground pits with overhead protection and music that was strangely loud but not blasting at the same time. The only thing missing to Kara's eyes were the professional dancers and their brass poles. Again Tyrol was recognized and greeted by some of the Earthers as soon as they had walked out of the gloom provided by the overhead forest. After returning the greetings, he led the two warriors inside the Hall.

* * *

As soon as the outer door had closed behind them and the inner door opened to what Earthers called 'the mud room', the differences that set this building apart from the others became obvious. The Gambling Hall was well lit, and you could tell where the load-bearing walls had been cut down to the barest minimum that was needed to hold the roof up over their heads and little else. The walls that were not needed for privacy had been either removed or cut down, and the remainders were put to other uses.

The only room that had not been cut down in any way was the building's builtin latrine area. Those two unmodified rooms were still way too small for the number of people. Most people who had to go take care of that type of personal business would leave their games and walk all the way over to Warehouse One. The facilities built into that great building were much larger.

Starbuck was in her element, almost like she was back in a Viper cockpit, as soon as the last door had closed behind her. She left her husband standing in the hallway, and did not even notice that she had done so. Her eyes and ears were leading her around like a shark scenting blood in the water. Sam for his part did not object at being left behind by his wife. He had expected that she would do something like this after all.

He went to where the kitchen area should be and ordered a drink, then proceeded to wait for his wife to return to him. He had set a time in his head that if she did not return by, then he would go around the place looking for her. That was something he had been very good at. He could keep track of time almost down to the second over a few hours. He also knew that sometimes you had to let Starbuck be Starbuck. Inside he was happy that she was channeling some of the old Starbuck, and not the Kara that had been returned to him from the Cylon prison. He figured that the worst that would happen was that he would get a little buzzed and bored waiting for her.

Sam was on his second drink of some kind, and it was almost an hour later. And he was just starting to feel it affect him in the way that he wanted it to. That was when he felt hands silkily sliding around his waist from behind. As a professional athlete ranked among the best in the Colonies, he had quicker reflexes than ninety-nine percent of rest of the Colonials.

His instincts kicked in full throttle, and he moved as quickly as a snake while still sitting in his bar stool. He grabbed one of the hands, and turned to see who was getting too friendly with him. He fully expected it to be a professional girl. In his experience they tended to hang around places like this. His quick mind had already come up with a half a dozen lines to get whoever it was away from him. Some of the lines might be more on the sharp side, but they were a whole lot less sharp than say, what Starbuck would do or say if she saw what was going on.

As Sam turned in his chair, he found himself looking right into the blue eyes of his wife. The wicked grin plastered all over her face one of the signs that she had been playing with him. Starbuck had spent the last ten minutes sneaking up on her husband with his back to the crowd. One part of her brain told her that it was not so nice a game to play on her husband. The other part told her that it was all the more reason to do it. When she could tell that her little joke had worked she let her fingers start walking as she talked. "I want one of the silver cubits. I think I've found a game that I can work with. It's called Blackjack, and it's a lot like Queen's Court back home. I was very good at it. So good they made me stop playing it on the Bucket." As she spoke her finger started playing with the buttons on Sam shirt.

Starbuck had a reputation for betting her last pair of cubits on a card game of any kind, but this time it was not her money that she was playing with. There was a lot riding on the games she was about to be sitting in on. She did not want to let down the elder Adama by making a simple frak up, so she had to come up with a plan to cover that well known weakness of hers. She had finally voiced the problem to her husband, after spending over an hour of trying figure out a way around it. He had come up with an idea in less than ten seconds.

To counter her well known impulse control issues, for lack of a better term, she would be using her husband as purser, or mini-bank. In a surprise move that would have shocked the entirety of what remained of the Colonial Fleet, she would let her husband hold the cash that the Admiral had fronted her. He would only let her have so much capital at any one time until she had convinced him that she had a good chance of winning big in the Gambling Hall. Sam himself had been in more than a dozen high end casinos after he made the pros in his chosen profession. With all of this experience in those types of high pressure establishments, he would not be easy to convince that she was ready for the high stakes tables.

One of the things that Starbuck was good at, and that many people did not know, was that she was great at making very good workable operational plans. Sticking to them was a completely different story, but she could plan with the best of them, even better than Bill Adama sometimes. At least when it came to out of the box thinking. Sam was about the only other one that thought, she might be as good at that in most areas as Bill Adama was.

The Admiral would have agreed, in private that she was as good as he was in making mission plans for Vipers. She was just weaker at the areas of planning Raptor and Battlestar independent operation. Oh, and she had no clue on how to plan any type of joint missions that had any of those three operators to complete a given task.

Sam looked at her levelly in the eyes and took a second or so to work out if she was ready or not. Finally he pulled a single silver one ounce cubit out of an inner pocket of his jacket, and passed it to his wife covered in the palm of his hand. She rewarded him with a kiss, before disappearing back into the crowd of people that had filled this building to capacity. With a slight smile on his face, Sam reset his internal clock. Then he ordered another drink from the bartender who was standing behind the pony wall giving him a knowing smile.

Now a fresh drink in one hand, he turned slightly around again. When Starbuck had come up behind him, it had also brought to his attention what was going on in a side room. With her gone again he looked back into the side room, which had a larger version of the 3D TV their hotel room had mounted high on the wall.

It had some kind of ball throwing game displaying on it, which had the whole room yelling and waving their arms in the air with excitement. A part of Sam's mind started to itch as he watched both the device and the room of people watching it. The camera's field of view was too narrow for him to get a good look. But Sam knew in his gut that it was like the one that he had seen in Warehouse One while they were out looking for a place to eat. For some reason it looked more complex than he thought the pick-up game he had seen a few hours ago would be.

Sam went into the room. After all, he had nothing better to do. At least until his wife was done at the gambling tables. He had no idea what was being said by the gathered people, but it did look like a live feed of the basketball game going on in Warehouse One. He was watching the 3D TV, and the groups going back and forth, trying to work out what was going on. It looked like the people in the room were making bets about the game.

What they were exactly betting on, he had no idea until Tyrol walked up behind him. Sam felt the other man approach long before anything was said. He would have been a great Viper pilot. If only for the one thing his old job and a Viper jock's job had in common. He always knew what was going on around him, without having to see it with his own eyes.

When Sam was ready, he spoke in Caprican, in a low voice just loud enough to carry over the din of the noise in the room. "What are they doing, Chief? And did you find your friend?" Tyrol was still about a step and a half behind Sam when he spoke. So it was like Sam was talking to the air or a ghost for a few seconds if anyone had taken the time to notice. Sam spoke softly enough that very few people around him heard it over the background noise from the crowd watching the game.

Tyrol closed the last little bit of gap between him and the other Colonial before answering the questions. He had no idea how much Sam might know, so he tried to fill him in as much as he could. "I got another message, he's still in a meeting in one of the Labs. As to what they're doing..."

Tyrol pointed to the screen. "It's the pickup game over in Warehouse One. They call the sport Basketball. These people will bet on anything to do with the game. Like if someone will take a shot, score a point or not." He pointed to a wall mounted board with strange writing all over it. "Each player has a list of odds for different skills in the game. They use that to figure out the odds for any of the side betting going on during the game. It's just like it was back home. Only the names of the players are changed, and the sports rules are slightly different." Tyrol's eyes went a little glassy as he had a flashback, a time and place that he knew he never would be able to go back to. Nuclear weapons had a way of changing the landscape from what you remembered before.

Sam was listening, but he was putting more effort into watching the game on the display screen. Sam was absentmindedly talking aloud. "It's a lot less aggressive than what I used to play. It's almost calming to watch, if it was not for all the yelling going on. That must be why it's played over there, and not closer to here. Boy, I loved hearing our crowds cheer us on during a close game. Or when I could shut up an opponent's support, and it would get into the other team's head because of us shouting their supporting crowd down." The sound of longing was just an undercurrent in Sam words.

Tyrol smiled and nodded, he understood both the words and the undercurrent that was being carried in them. "It is, but if they ask you to ever play something called Rugby, just walk away, and do whatever you can to convince them that you don't understand a word they're saying to you." Tyrol gave a slight shudder, remembering when he had almost fallen into that little trap. And then his eyes popped back open at the hint of an idea that had crept into his mind. "You might be good at this game. You'll just have to be careful about a few things. The point counting device is a horizontal hoop verses a hole in a wall like we're used to. That, and you can't push your way through a player from the other side, but you can pass the ball around them. There are a few other rules, I can go over the core ones if you want."

Sam nodded his head, but did not say anything just yet. He watched the large screen, now focusing on what Tyrol had just said about how they played. And the round ball they were moving around the court. He was not the biggest Pyramid player to have ever played in the game, but he had been fast. He could get around the largest players from other teams with an ease that spoke of an exceptional combination of talent and skill. He could not do it all the time, but he could do it often enough to be considered one of the all-time greats in the Colonies wide league at a very young age.

"What are all of the rules? Start at the top." Sam had been talking to Tyrol, but his eyes never left the screen and absorbed everything. He was vacuuming up every move and reaction both on the screen, and in the room around him. The idea of learning a new type of sport to play was making his heart beat a little faster. One part of his brain told him that this must be how Starbuck was feeling about learning a new type of sport. She had always said gambling was a sport like any other.

Tyrol started talking to another man that had been shooting them odd looks while the two had been talking in Caprican. And then over the next few minutes, they explained the rules to the former Colonies-wide famous sports star. At least, as Tyrol and the nearby Earther knew them, and that was just enough to place some side bets on the game. There were more rules than Sam had at first thought, but they seemed pretty simple to understand. All except the rules that a coach of a team had to obey. Sam had no plans on being a manager or coach anytime in the near future, so he pushed those rules to the back of his mind. He would review them later, he felt like he needed to.

Sam repeated the basic rules back to Tyrol, who did the same to another Earther standing beside him. That was after they started getting a few strange looks from that second Earther, which might have turned hostile if misinterpreted. Instead this turned out to be a big help. The second Earther knew more about the rules, and more importantly could point out the loopholes in those rules. All as the game was playing before them on the large screen.

Sam digested the basic rules of the game as they were explained to him. He knew there was a big difference between having the rules in your mind, and knowing some of the ways around them. Between having to obey them, and applying them on the court. All the while, you were trying your best to win the game in the first place. Sam now knew that there were some rules that could be bent and others downright broken. If you knew just when to do that, well, you would be a few steps closer to winning the game. Finding out those areas in application was going to take longer than learning the basic stuff.

Tyrol thanked the other man, who wanted to get back to the betting and stop explaining things to these strangers. "You know Sam, as I think about it, you might be better at the game the called Football, than this Basketball. It's played during the day, and outside on every seventh day. It's all the rage, and getting very popular with our people stuck in the ships. It allows the use of a lot more of the force and moves to score points, that you might have been more used to being able to apply on an opponent. It's a lot more physical than that." Tyrol was now pointing to a pushing match, which was about the limit of physical contact allowed in this strange sport. The same game was still being shown on the wall mounted device, though for the first time Tyrol noticed a count down timer at the bottom of the display.

Sam looked around but Starbuck was going to be gone for hours, if he was to judge by her current mood. Sam figured she was not the only one who could make some money to support the family in this strange new world. Now he had to get some deeper information from the other Colonial, and he hoped that he would have the correct answers this time. "So how do you make any money on this? I mean, if you're a player and not a spectator, how would you do it? Oh and not get the locals upset at you for making money on the game."

He did not notice that he had said it loud enough that a few of the closest people heard what he said to the other Colonial. He had been talking in Caprican only to Tyrol, but some of the locals had been picking the language up. Just like the Colonials had been picking up and using more and more English every day.

Sam was new to this world, but that did not mean that he was born last night. And after hearing what the locals had done to the chicken thieves, he wanted to cover his butt. The last two things he wanted to do was get put in a local jail, or more importantly embarrass one Bill Adama.

Tyrol had never had much money, and he had been living from hand to mouth on a regular basis for a long time. It had been that way even before the Cylons had blasted them off the homeworlds, but he was smart. He had used that level of brain power to help him do a lot of things on the side. All while had been helping the overall war effort against the Cylons. After the fleet had been able to evacuate from that Hades forsaken field, he had been giving most of the extra funds he had been able to make to the mother of his child. He still had a little of the local scrip from where he helped the locals out earlier today, even after having two not inexpensive meals. However it did not mean that he was rolling in the funds. At least not today. Maybe in a few days when his latest side project was supposed to be done that might change.

The two of them quickly moved back to the bar in the converted kitchen to work out a plan. This gave them a little bit more protection from any ears in the other room that might understand them. Sam would have long odds when he started playing this new game. Only because the Earthers did not know about his past as a major sports star among his people. That would quickly change, once word from the few Colonials got back to the odds makers. But for the next few days Sam would be evaluated as under skilled, even in this new game. Sam pulled out one of the silver cubit bars from an inner coat pocket. If he failed, and lost that ounce of silver, he would have a lot of uncomfortable explaining to do to a lot of good people.

He trusted Tyrol to be good to his word. That had not always been so, like when the other man was deep in the bottle when he had first arrived from Caprica with Starbuck. He had been told that the Chief had cleaned up a lot and he had not only helped get the Earthers' support in the fight, he was even now working on projects to integrate Earther tech into Colonial military weapons and ships. He even heard once, from Apollo in private, that the Chief had said that he might be able to make a Colonial made Direct Energy Weapon. One that they could build to mount on Vipers. That was something only a sober person could do, even if they were not under the eyes of both Adamas. Both were, after all, well known to have the eyes of hawks. He did not know if it was true or not, but the man he had seen off the ship before the Cylons came back was not the man he had just been talking with tonight. From what he had seen with his own eyes over the last month, this person was more like the one from the stories he had heard. Certainly not the mean drunk he had been not too long ago.

The two men shook hands once they had worked out the details to each of their satisfaction. With the details more or less done, Sam made his way around the large ex-home, to find were his wife might be exercising her new/old job skills. He had a direction to go on, and the name of the game she said that she had been last looking at trying out first. With those two data points, he was able to quickly track her down in the overcrowded gaming area. Amazingly it had only taken about six minutes, and he did not even have one drink spilled on him during his search for her.

She was sitting at a kidney shaped table with five other people on a side. They were facing a single person that was passing out strange red and white colored cards in front of each of the five along with round multicolored disks. The table had a neatly handwritten sign that he found easy understand. It said Blackjack in two tongues. He waited for the cards to be collected and round disks collected or passed out by the person sitting alone on one side of the table before walking up to his wife's side.

He did not know what the rules were to this card game or any other games being played around. But he figured if the cards were not out, then it was safe and would not cause too much trouble to advance to his wife's side. He thought that Starbuck was happy. She had more of the odd colored disks in front of her than she did before the cards had been collected the last time.

Kara had just won the last bet on that hand of cards. It was not much, but it was a low limit table and she had just won the maximum that you could at this table on a normal hand. She was using this table as a training event for her future adventures. Somehow she had even been able to find a cigar to smoke, even if it was cheap tasting. She was in a very good mood, and her mind was not on anything but the cards, her bets, the cigar, and the dealer.

Sam just hoped she would brush her teeth before coming to bed, this time. Because this one smelled almost as bad as the ones she had been smoking just before the Cylons had come again. When the Cylons first arrived at New Caprica, he had just happened to be aboard the Galactica on some errand or another. While she was dirt side being tortured by the Cylons, he had been stuck on the battlestar kicking himself every hour that he had been off planet without her. The last words they had shared had been him complaining about the cigars.

He had a slight smile on his face, now, as he realized that it was anybody's guess when she would be going to sleep tonight. You had to let Starbuck be Starbuck, or you might need to find a new wife. Sam had never liked normal, and that was one word you never, ever used to describe the woman he loved. Well, not to her face, or you might get a black eye and a fat lip for your troubles.

As Sam covered the last few inches between them, her head turned toward the movement. "Kara, I'm going back to Warehouse One to try that Basketball thing out. I might be gone for a few hours if I can get into a game. When you're done here, how about meeting over there?" He was looking at his wife to see if she understood him. He also wanted to see if she was over the limit in drinks that she had set for herself. While he was talking, red and white checkerboard cards were passed out till all players have a twin set in front of them, one face up and one face down. Sam looked around, and no one seemed to mind that much that he was there at the table, talking to one of the players.

She was already looking at the fresh cards landing in front of her and at the face up pair of cards in front of the dealer. This newer movement had drawn her eyes and face away from her husband even as he stood close. "Sure babe, I will see you over there." She had not even looked at him after the kiss she had given him. That did not bother Sam. That was just the way she was when she was deep into a card game of any kind. Besides, Bill Adama had paid to send her down here to do this job, and with him gone, so was her bank. Without him she could only lose that one bar of metal she had gotten from him earlier.

* * *

Sam made his way out of the Gambling Hall and back to the huge wooden clad building named Warehouse One. He could feel his heart rate picking up, his pulse quickening as he mentally prepared himself for the upcoming sports challenge. It was just like back home. Same thing happened whenever he was about to play against another top level team or in the championship playoffs.

He was almost all the way up to being jumpy when he walked into the warehouse he had been aiming for. He could not help but feel a smile cross his face as the door closed behind him. It was great to feel that way again. Somehow it made him think that things might be on the way to becoming more normal again. Then again maybe they were all going to die, and this was only the last bit of good before the Lords dropped another rock on the humans' heads. Sam gave a snort at that last passing thought.

Karl Agathon was stretching on the sidelines and saw Sam walk into the building with a huge smile on his face. Karl surreptitiously kept an eye on the other Colonial while he finished his stretches. When Sam took his heavy outer coat and top shirt off and placed both of them on a handy wooden chair near the sidelines, Karl looked up at the other man, and gave him a sly grin. He had a good idea what was about to play out on tonight's next game.

"So you're going to give it a try?" He asked the former sports star as the other man started his own stretching routine. If anyone was watching him they would have noticed the different types of stretches this newcomer was doing. It would have told them that this one had received coaching of some kind in the not so distant past.

Sam gave him a sly grin as he went into a cycle of deep hamstring stretches. "Frak yeah. Are you playing?" Sam thought it would be more fun if he was on a team with someone from the Colonies. Or better yet in the case of Karl, someone he liked in the first place. He still would have tried to play tonight if they put him on a team made up of only locals. Even if he would not be able to understand a word they were saying to or at him. That had been what he thought was going to happen anyway, but having Karl around was a much better alternative.

Karl gave him a grin that he could not stop from coming to his face. "This should be good. I just need to make sure we're on the same team tonight. The next game starts in about ten minutes, will you be ready by then? I just hope Sharon is in the Hall. We could rake in some extra credits, if she is." Helo tilted his head to one side when he saw the sly grin on the other man's face as he finished stretching and went on to other warm up exercises. He could tell that Sam was up to something, and it might have something to do with the Gambling Hall. He was just wishing that he had been brought into whatever it was earlier, so that he might be able to get some extra spending money out of the deal.

Sam just gave the man double thumbs up, and Karl went to a desk on one of the sidelines of the court they were about to play on. Karl had to do some selling, but in the end Karl came back with a blue tank top in one of his hands. It matched the one Karl was already wearing with two large white markings on it that Sam knew were numbers of some kind. When Helo was close enough, he tossed it over to Sam. Sam caught it and slipped it over his military style undershirt.

When the electric bell mounted on the sideline table rang, two sweating teams left the court. When those people had cleared the court, Sam's new team, all with blue tank tops, took the court. They would be facing another fresh team of ball players, with red tank tops on. Karl and Sam were the only Colonials in the Warehouse at this time. So the Earthers on the court, on the sidelines, and watching on 3D TV had no idea what they were in for for the next ninety minutes.

* * *

While Starbuck and Sam did their best to win money off of the unlucky people around them, all of the gates to the Settlement were closing for the night. The last gate to close was the closest one to the little landing pad that had been set up for Colonial Raptors to use during the normal duty day of the Colonial Fleet. It was very late, so the Captain of the guard force personally relieved the watch that was on gate duty quiet night. That way he would not have to cover the overtime cost for those three people tonight.

What most people did not know, was that each of the gates that allowed access to the Earther built village had a medical scanner installed in a very hard to find location. The person who had pushed for that security measure, let's just say that he had been considered to be more than a little paranoid about Cylons. Even by Colonial standards.

The Cylons were now known to have human looking forms, but with all of the models already identified. The minimum that needed to be done, was done to counter them all the way out here at the Settlement. That also meant that the device that would be able to detect Cylons would only download the scan results once a day. Only when the gates were closed, and locked for the night. The proponent thought it better if they downloaded the data in real time back at the command center. That idea was turned down for being unnecessary and too costly.

The Gate Captain had closed and locked both the vehicle and pedestrian gates, but he could not legally leave his post just yet. That is until the he was sure that it would not need to be reopened again until just before dawn the next day. Like say, if the small craft that was on the little landing pad had engine trouble of some kind, and the crew needed to stay overnight at the last minute.

It had happened before. When it was found out that the gate had been closed early it had not gone well for the now former Guard Captain. Things also did not end well when a duty officer off of one of the warships had to come all the way out to this gate to open it. Most people were pretty sure that the guard captain had been sent out to help with the fishing or collection of slightly used Cylon parts after that incident.

So while the Captain was waiting for the Raptor to take flight again, he was reviewing the data on the fixed mounted medical device. It was not like he had anything else to do while he waited. It was the only way the Captain had to alleviate the boredom and avoid falling asleep while still on duty. He was almost done scanning the gathered data when he heard the Raptor lift off from the landing pad. He did not need to know if a VIP had been escorted out or if the Colonial craft had been recalled to one its mother ships. All he knew was that now he would be rechecking all of the locks while the odd shaped craft did a flyover of the Settlement.

The Guard Captain was about to just shut the computer off, when he noticed an alert flashing large red letters off to one side of the screen. There was only one reason for letters to be displayed in that one area of the screen. A Cylon had been detected. The alert had an image of the Cylon that had been detected, and a time stamp of when the the scan had been taken. All of that information would make it easy to find it again, and anyone who might be traveling with the human/machine hybrids.

Everything he needed to do had been trained into him. Even then it still took time for that training to kick in. For a long while, he was just looking at the screen with his jaw swinging in the wind.

The Guard did not know how long he stood staring at the flashing alert, frozen in place, eyes bugging out and jaw hanging open. When his mind caught up to what had happened, and after he had his mental feet under him again, he picked up the direct line to the always manned Command Center that was the heart of the local defenses. Admiral Adama's Raptor had not even docked with his damaged battlestar yet when the call was picked up. By the time the Raptor was in the flight pod, a small but very effective security force had begun actively searching the whole Settlement for the human form Cylon who had landed with him.

It was only by chance that one of the on duty security officers had been watching the Basketball game on 3D TV when his small computer device let him know something was very wrong in the village. When the picture showed who the human form Cylon was, he only had to look up to see the new Colonial drain another three point shot from one edge of the basketball court. The low ranking Police officer sent a message that the subject was spotted, and where he had been spotted at. The news was not taken very seriously for a number of what might have been critical minutes. That is until someone in the Command Center put the game on one of the small wall mounted screens, and the whole room saw for themselves the target playing a ball game.

By the time Adama had set foot on the Galactica, three armed security people were watching the Basketball game, with one person on the court side at all times. All of them were carrying small, powerful and very well concealed weapons and body armor under their clothes. By the time the ninety minutes of game time was complete, Major Weston was sitting at one of the picnic tables outside of the gathering place waiting to see what was going to happen next. He was going to pick up the trail behind this new Cylon if or when he left the building.

It had not taken long to dig up information on this new Colonial, and who his wife was out of the extensive dossiers put together about prominent Colonials. Starbuck already had a dedicated two person team to follow her around in the nearby Gambling Hall. A third person was quietly asking around the building about her. The last report to come in to the Major had said something along the lines that she looked to be fully engaged in gambling at the Hall. That was good. They would not have to rotate too many people in and out to keep an eye on her. Tonight at least.

When the basketball game was over, it was normal for both teams to hit the showers built for their use. They were an outside affair as gym shower rooms were considered, but after sweating a lot, a cold shower was very welcome to most of the overheated players. The designated towel boy tonight had a last minute change, replaced by one of Major Weston's most trusted young people. It would have looked too out of place for the replacement to be an older person. So a twelve year old went to be the towel handler.

Mike Weston was waiting outside of the massive wooden building, and would pick up the trail himself as soon as the target left the building. Whenever that was, anyway. It could turn out to be a long night.

One never knew. The target might want to try his hand in another round of basketball before calling it a night. Warehouse One was open all night, with only a two hour window closed for the staff to clean the place up.

Major Weston was betting to himself that his target would leave from there and go to one of two places in the village. He did not think that the target would try to catch another ball game, like most of the watchers were thinking. He would go to either the lodging house, or back to the Gambling Hall. That was where his wife was working on cleaning out the bank. Even if she was not at any of the high roller tables. He was sitting here in case they all were wrong, and the Cylon did something surprising.

It really should not have been his job, but they were short on manpower tonight for such an important mission. Rank might have its privileges, but it also had its requirements and obligations. Mike had been notified when the game was over by one of his people within seconds of the event. And he was also told when the target did hit the showers with the rest of the players. All of these notices were sent to his little portable computer, which also held the report he was reading while he was outside waiting in the cold, damp, night air.

He would also be notified when Sam the Cylon finished cleaning up and was headed his way. So the Major settled down in the cold damp air, and did the dreaded paperwork that had followed humans to this planet. When that was finished, he pulled a book up on his portable electronic device. One he had been trying to finish for some time now. When he heard the sound of someone walking up to the Warehouse's main door from the nearby tree line, Major Weston looked up from his electronic pad, and saw one of the last things that he had expected to see tonight.

It was Galen Tyrol. Another human form Cylon who was still in hiding and one that they already had known about for some time now. Tyrol walked right past Major Weston without seeming to notice him in the dark of the night and under the shadow of the trees. The funny part was that Weston was not trying that hard not to be seen by anyone who might be walking around. Major Weston made a note that Tyrol seemed to have been very happy as he entered the Warehouse at a faster than usual pace. Less than ten seconds later, John Keller came out of the darkness dressed in his Bushman trooper armor, also walking at a faster than usual pace.

The Major knew that John Keller was assigned to keep an eye on Tyrol until midnight tonight. This type of guard rotation had been going on within hours of finding out that there was a Cylon still hiding among them. It looked like his shift might stretch out a lot longer than anyone had planned for. It also looked like Major Weston was not going to be getting home any time soon. It looked like the Cylon that they knew was still hiding might be changing the way he was acting. That was so not a good sign for the humans of this world.

Major Weston made eye contact with John, but motioned him to stay outside, and not follow his target inside the building as was the normal operational procedure. When Mike rose for the wooden bench, he quickly crossed over to John. John gave the Major a backbrief on what the Cylon in hiding had been doing after he left the dock earlier that evening. It did not take long to catch the Major up.

It was surprising to the Major to know who he had been seen with for a few hours now. He would have been told eventually about this turn of events, but not until he was back on duty in the morning. Mike made a note to change the SOP on waiting to report certain types of events to the Command Center.

Mike thanked John, and sent some quick notes to the right people, flagged urgent. With this done, Weston entered the Warehouse and waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light. It did not take long for him to see the two Cylons talking with each other near the center of the room. Both seemed to be very happy, which might not be the best thing for the humans still living on and above this planet.

Major Weston knew quite a bit of Caprican by now, but he had no idea what the two were saying to each other. They were speaking way too fast, so the Major pushed the record button on his electronic device, and took a seat close by the two Colonials. Now all he could do was wait to see what was going to happen next. As Mike settled in keeping the two Cylons under observation and recording what they were saying, he reviewed some of his past training.

There was a trick to trailing someone, and that is you never look at them directly. You just use the corner of your eyes to keep them in view and try to keep your head moving at a normal pace. Never keep it still and unmoving. That was not natural and unnatural had a tendency to attract human attention.

* * *

Samuel Anders came out of the common showers with his hair still wet. It had been a long time since he had taken a cold shower after a game. He, like everyone else, would have liked a long hot shower as a rule, but a cold one did the job almost as well. On the up side, the cool water was plentiful, and at a nice steady pressure that worked into the muscles. It did the job of cleaning the sweat off of his body, and it also lowered his overly high core body temperature nicely. He also knew that it would help him by lessening the pain in his tendons and ligaments. And it made him smell a lot better than he had when he first walked off the Raptor tonight.

In the showers they had little bars of soap and shampoo for people to use without even having to pay extra for those hard to find items. When he was getting dressed into his mostly dry clothes, they had even passed on to him some kind of underarm spray to use. He had not had anything like that since his supply had run out while fighting the Cylons in the backwoods of Caprica.

He was having flashbacks of his early years coming up through the ranks of his sport. Before he broke through to be a super star on one of the pro teams. That had been when he had played just for the fun and challenge of the game. Not for the money, fame, or any of the other trappings of the superstar life style. Those few years had been good, in hindsight.

He thought he had done well in the game, and from the sounds the rest of his team were making, they agreed. It had taken some time to get fully into this new game. That was because at first no one on the team wanted to pass the ball to the unknown new guy. That was until Karl had passed him the ball, and he had driven hard to the 'hoop' and did a 'layup'. This scored points for his team, and let them take the lead.

After that display of skill and more importantly speed, he got passed the ball more often. And the more he scored, the more he found that he was in control of the round, head sized ball and with it, the game. He did not score all of the time, but he quickly learned how to 'shoot' the ball at the right angle for it to go into the 'hoop' more times than not. A lot of the times he would just aim at the backboard, a basic skill for a Pyramid player of his caliber. If he hit the backboard right, the ball would fall into the hoop as it bounced back.

When Sam left the common shower room, he had to go through the whole Warehouse to the only exit the building had that he had seen. While in the showers, letting the cool water work on tired muscles in his arms and legs, he had started worrying about Starbuck.

She had not come looking for any more money, but you never knew what might be going on around her. She could have started a bar fight, and now was in the local equivalent of a brig or hospital bed for all he knew. He had heard stories from her very own mouth, and he had also heard from a long list of other people for that matter. All the stories pointed to both of those locations being possible places for him to check out if she was not at the Gambling Hall. He was thinking so hard about his wife, that he did not notice the young boy that took his wet towel. Nor did he notice that the boy's eye stayed locked on to him, until he had gone out the dressing room door.

When he re-entered the main area of the Warehouse, he was greeted by strangers as soon as the door had closed behind him. At least that is what he thought they were doing, anyway. They could have been putting some crazy hex on him, for all that he knew of the English language.

He just returned a small smile to all of the people smiling and lightly slapping him on the back as he walked past them. When he made it to the large main area of the Warehouse, and clear of the thickest part of the crowd, his eye was automatically drawn to movement coming towards him. That was enough to make his combat training kick in.

Whatever it was, it was still partly hidden as it worked its way through the crowd. He was looking straight at Tyrol when the other man finally cleared crowd, and fully entered his line of sight. Sam felt his heart skip a beat. Tyrol had a grin that looked like it would break his face, it was so huge. Sam took that as a good sign.

* * *

Tyrol was a very happy man. The plan had worked, and he had made a bundle on the basketball game. According to the plan that they had made, Sam was supposed to come back to the Hall after the game. But Tyrol could not wait to pass along the good fortune. He had left the Hall and went to find Sam to give him the good news that the shared effort had paid off.

He had rushed all the way to the Warehouse, looking for Sam. He had left the Hall just after the game was timed to have ended, but by the time he had gotten there, Sam had already left the playing court. He had lucked out, though. He had not been in the building long when one of the spectators told him that Sam had headed for the showers with the rest of the team a handful of minutes ago.

It had been hard for him to resist the urge to have a drink or two while waiting in the Hall. But he had set a pattern and intended to stick to it, while he fought the wild beast of alcoholism that still had its talons buried deep into his soul. He would just drink the fruit juice that the bar tender was not that happy to serve to anyone. It had been an unpleasant surprise the first time he drank a few glasses of the stuff, then followed it up with something with more lead in it. He had been warned against doing that, but deep down he had not believed them.

Now he was using the fruit drink to help him stay on the wagon during the week or while he was on a given project. It did make him hungry, so while he was waiting for Sam to come out of the shower, he ordered something called 'Veggie Soup'. Much to his surprise, he liked it the first time he had tried some of the simple fare. He had expected it to be like the algae soup that was served aboard the ships. But this one had chunks of different colored things floating in it, which must have been the Veggies. All of it in the odd tasting and thick broth. He had been drinking down the thick broth, so he had missed Sam when the other man first re-entered the main area from the showers.

When he saw the person he was waiting for, Sam was almost halfway to the main entrance of the massive building. Tyrol had to move quickly through the crowd between the two Cylons that did not know they were Cylons. It might have been better for Tyrol to have yelled out Sam's name to get his attention, but that did not enter his mind at the time. It was just not in his nature to yell. So he just plotted out a course around the obstacles, and walked up to the other Colonial's off side without a second thought to his actions.

After he made one last turn to get around a group of Earthers standing still in his way, he ended up face to face with the man he was looking for. One part of Tyrol's mind told him that Sam had noticed him coming through the blocking crowd, and he presented Sam with a large toothy smile.

Tyrol looked at the taller man and then brought the smile on his face a little more under control. He knew that he was grinning like someone with a soft head. At first he had wanted to frak with Sam a little bit, but he could not pull it off in the end. "Good game Mr. Anders. A very good game, Sam." A twinkle was in the Deck Chief's eyes as he spoke to the sports super star.

Sam smiled back at the Chief only a few steps in front of him. "So how did we do?" He had a good feeling that they had at least done as well as they thought they would. But how much better had they done, he wondered in one corner of his brain. Sam could feel his heart picking up a few beats a minute at this thought.

Tyrol smile become more toothy again and a little silly looking, but he did a quick nod of his head by throwing it to one side. "I think we need to talk outside." Tyrol was not the only one who thought that it was bad form to pull out money in front of people. Ones that might not have any, or worse, ones that had just lost some of that money to them, might take offense. There were way too many people with laser weaponry around the building for a guy to want to offend someone packing enough firepower to blast a hole in a Centurion. They would be caught if those weapons were used, but it still could get someone a case of the killed. Even the Earthers did not have a magic shot of something that can fix something like that.

Sam did a quick scan around the large building. Something was worrying the Chief. It was not much of a concern, but it was something he did not want to have too many witnesses to. Sam quickly noticed that something was not right, but he could not put his finger on it. When he turned back to face the Chief he made a slight nod. "Why don't we just go check on Starbuck first? We can talk along the way."

Tyrol felt the wind come out of his sails a little bit, but Sam was right. It had been the other man's seed money after all that had let him score the windfall that was now in his pockets. Tyrol had not been looking out for Starbuck during the game that he had been placing bets on. That could be a very bad thing. So he nodded at the sports star, and they both headed towards the main door and the cold night air that was beyond its heavy wooden timbers. Tyrol was thankful for the hot soup he had just finished, as he was thinking about the cool damp air that was on the other side of that door. At least it was not raining or even misting tonight.

* * *

Major Weston thought that the tall thinner Cylon looked uncomfortable after exchanging what seemed like only a few sets of ideas of some kind. He was not surprised that they started heading for the main door after a short time of talking. He was not a trained as a spy or in counter intelligence for that matter, but he had been known to be able to sing the tune pretty well when necessary.

He rose and followed the two Cylons out of the warehouse. He was only about ten steps behind the two Cylons, when the door to the warehouse closed, blocking his line of sight to his targets. Mike had to pick up his pace a little, though still not enough too draw too much attention from those people left in the building.

When he opened the door to exit the building himself, he was only an about a minute behind his targets. In the pools of light he could still see the two Cylons walking away. It looked to him that they were indeed heading back towards the Gambling Hall. Weston thought quickly on his feet, and came up with a plan that fit his needs. He would not call it a good plan, but it was a plan that should be able to get the job done. And it might even let him get some relevant information about the pair, without them knowing why he was wanting it.

"Galen Tyrol!"

Both Galen and Sam turned at the shouted name coming at some volume from behind them. It had an odd sound to it, but Sam did not put his finger on it. That is until the saw the Earther closing the door to the Warehouse community center door behind him. He waved to the two stopped Colonials to let them know it had been he who had called out to them.

Tyrol knew the man as soon as he laid eyes on him, even in the night and shadows. He was surprised to see him here and at this time of night. In English, he spoke back to the military man, who was strutting towards them with 40 inch steps. "Major Weston. Good to see you again. When did you get back to the Settlement?" Something was setting off soft alarm bells in Tyrol's mind. He had no idea why, but something might not be all that they seemed.

Weston smiled at the pair, but it looked a little fake to Sam. "I thought that was you." He gave Tyrol a little wave of one hand as he got close enough to speak without yelling. "Oh, I've been back a few weeks now. Once we had most of the battle sites cleaned up, I started moving most of my people back to this side of the planet. They did not exactly need a Major, nor all of that firepower. Not for a detailed Police Call, even if it was a big frakking one."

This time he gave a real laugh to fill the air. After all, what he just told the pair of Cylons was nothing but the whole truth. "You and your friend looked like you were heading to the Gambling Hall, would you like some company along the way?" Weston gave Sam a slight nod as he talked to Tyrol. He was not going to let this other Cylon know that he could speak Caprican, and understand even more of it.

Everything had been said in English, so Sam had no idea what was being said between the two men. But it did not seem like any problems had come up from what Sam could pick out in the speaking tones and facial expressions. When Tyrol turned and told Sam what was said, and who the other military man was, Sam still did not think that things were okay. It was strange that they would run into the head of the Earthers' military force, just out of the blue at this time of night.

That would be like running into Bill Adama at the main crew mess hall between meal times. The only thing that stopped Sam from freaking out was that Tyrol seemed to know the man. And that he seemed pretty calm about this chance meeting. The three of them walked to the Gambling Hall together in the night air. Tyrol was able to make small talk with the military leader, but he only got one word replies from the Major as they walked.

* * *

The three of them walked into the Hall together, with greetings being given to both the Major and the Chief as they arrived. The Gambling Hall was still packed to the walls with people even hours later. Major Weston waved goodbye to the two Colonials, and walked to kitchen area without looking over his shoulder at the two Cylons. The other two men went looking for Starbuck, in a different direction than the Major had gone.

Anders felt himself started to calm down, now that the Major had left their little group of walkers. As it turned out, Starbuck was right where Sam had left her before he went to the Warehouse. The only differences were the stacks of round, colored discs in front of her. Sam knew from all his time with Starbuck, and any number of other gamblers that he had known through the years, that you did not interrupt them if they were on a winning streak of any kind.

So the two Colonials just stood around waiting until they could tell that she had lost two hands of cards in a row. When that happened, Sam put his hands on one of Starbuck's shoulders to let her know he was there. It would have been too hard to talk over the loud music, at least not without yelling his lungs out.

Starbuck did not jump when she felt a hand lightly touch the top of her left shoulder. With the size of the crowd that had been milling around her for the last hour, she had already gotten used to people bumping and touching her as they moved past her card table. It had taken her some time but she was now used to how closely the people were packed around her, after being in that Cylon prison for so long. Being in this type of setting, with her having to think only about the cards, had helped more than all of the counselling she had been given to help her recover from the Cylon mind games.

When the hand stayed on her shoulder for a few seconds longer than any others', she quickly looked up. She did not feel the need to rapidly jerk her head around. She had somehow known that it would be her husband, looking down at her with a sweet smile on his face. Before she said anything she noticed that he looked like he had just taken a shower. He smelled clean, fresh, but still somehow very manly at the same time.

This made her realize how she smelled, and it was a long way from clean and fresh. No matter how much you showered on the Galactica, somehow you still smelled... different. They used to call old battlestars like her pigboats because of that very reason. It did not exactly stink. Not as offensively as human odors, but the combination of detergent used to scrub decks, grease, tylium fumes and other assorted substances vital to the operation of a ship in deep space, ran through decades old recycling systems too many times, made for a subtle yet pervasive scent many first-timers considered overwhelming. It was sometimes enough to make civilians exposed to it for the first time forget they were on one of the deadliest warships ever made by the hands of men.

"Sam, you look like you couldn't wait for me to try that big frakking tub out after all." She was smiling at her husband, and something was lurking in the deep blue of those eyes. She could tell it was something, but not what.

Sam kept his hands on her, and added a little more pressure with his finger and just smiled at first. Starbuck did not like to lose at cards, or anything else for that matter. Her smiling up at him, well that was a surprise worth remembering and addressing. "I went to try my hand at that local sport while you were testing the waters with the cards. After getting used to their game, I cleaned up a bit before coming back over here. How have you been doing with the cards anyway?"

After he said something about going to play a ball game, she remembered that he had told her this. "Okay. Better a few hands ago, if you wanted to know the truth." She said as she flipped another coin-like disc onto a spot in front of her. In a flash a pair of cards were tossed in front of her. When she checked her two cards, she put another disc out to join the first. But this one was a different color from the first one. She was multitasking as any good Viper pilot could.

The dealer put a third card out face up next to the two in front of Starbuck. It looked like a female with a golden crown on her head. Starbuck did not seem like she was that happy to see its image. Sam did not know what she said next, except one word. "Frak". That was not good. It looked like she had just lost another hand.

When the discs were picked up by the dealer's quick moving hands, he knew without a doubt that she had lost again. He thought that his opening had just been reinforced by this additional loss. "Why don't we call it quits for tonight? This was only supposed to be a learning trip tonight anyway. You can cut your losses, and come back in a day or two and see what happens." He did not want to say that he would bet that the Admiral had not expected her to be working on her job within only a few hours of putting her feet back on the planet's surface.

Starbuck looked at her stack of chips, and did some math in her head. Then she waved one of her hands in front of her. The palm of her hand went over the round dark spot on the dealing table not far from her stack of chips. It was just like she had seen others do when they were done for the night or just wanted to sit out a hand of cards or something else. She even said the words that she had heard for the first time tonight. She did it so badly, that about the only ones who understood it did not know what 'cashing out' meant.

The dealer had been doing this job long enough to know that the strange female Colonial was done playing Blackjack. At least for now and that was a good thing in his opinion. So he nodded to her, and dealt cards to the other players still sitting at the gaming table.

The other players waiting in the wings were all hoping that the lucky, but novice player would finally free up a seat at the table. Most were thinking that if she was gone, maybe they would win a few more hands of Blackjack instead of her. It was wishful thinking on their part, and they had no idea how much wishful thinking it was. Many eyes were watching the Colonial woman with envy as she started trying to pick up her impressive stacks of chips.

Tyrol pulled out an old grease stained cloth that he always kept on his person. It was a holdover from when he worked on Vipers and Raptors and needed to keep his hands clean. It was a well known fact that grease and high voltage did not mix very well together, much less in the confined spaces of a space ship. In his long career working on warships, he had seen more than one knuckle dragger lose parts of a hand to that volatile mixture.

He passed the clean, but well stained cloth to Starbuck. The woman quickly made a makeshift pouch out of the stained cloth, and started moving the round chips off of the tabletop and into it by the handfuls. It was an impressive mix of colors and numbers, as the disks went from table to improvised bag in a steady stream. They were moving too fast for Tyrol to be able to count, but it looked like she had done very well for herself tonight.

With the pouch filled to capacity she left the table. The three of them made their way through the crowd to the back of the Hall. The high roller area and cash cages were in the green house section of the converted home. It also was a lot less crowded compared to the rest of the building. The staff of the Hall made sure of this. Sam did not have anything to 'cash' or trade in, so he just watched and noted as much as he could about how it was done. That was his plan anyway, but you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men.

Tyrol was first up to the 'Cash Cage'. Starbuck had not done this before, or seen it done for that matter and also was watching what was going on. This was new and so different, that she was perfectly happy to let the more experienced deck ape take the lead this time. All the while she was watching him like a hawk.

Tyrol put down a thick stack of, still odd shaped to his eyes, paper notes on the counter of the Cash Cage. In return a single sheet of rectangle paper was given back to him. Tyrol did not like something about the slip, and returned the single sheet to the cashier. After some exchange of words between the pair, he was given two sheets of the white paper without any signs of distress on the cashier's face.

It seemed like this operation was old hat for both parties involved. Tyrol looked at each of the sheets, and nodded at the big hulking cashier that did not need bars between him and the customers. Then Tyrol said something, that again Sam or Starbuck had no idea what the meaning of was. Tyrol stood aside but still close just in case Starbuck had any issues with the exchange that she was about to have to do. If she did, it would not be a surprise to anyone who knew her longer than a day. She did.

Starbuck put the improvised bag on the small table in front of the cashier, and dumped it out into a nice sized pile of different colored disks. She had already been able to learn the English numbers and roughly equate them to Colonial standard in her head. That was one of the tricks and skills that very few people left alive knew she had. The cashier took the chips, counted them, and put them in stacks with quick fingers. He then returned a sheet of paper, without batting an eye at the transactions that he had thought was complete. Starbuck was not happy, very much not happy at the sheet of paper that had been handed back to her. And when you mix a Starbuck, alcohol, and cards with a good dose of unhappiness, well something like that normally ended with people on both sides seeing a medic or behind bars of some kind soon afterwards.

When she locked eyes with the large man behind the cage, her eyes were flashing fire. Her voice was sickly sweet when she spoke. This was a clear warning sign that she was about to go nova on someone. "What the frak is this? Where is my money?" She was already using her outside voice after a whole two words. Her shoulders were set back, and people who knew her knew she was a heartbeat away from taking a swing at someone. And it would not matter who she took the swing at when she did so. She was a primed and armed nuclear device, wrapped up in a nitro about to fall off of a cliff.

Tyrol stepped up Starbuck's side at seeing all of the warning signs coming from the Colonial officer. He was quickly having a vision of ending up in the brig of the Lucky Find any second now. However this move caused a second person to come to the backside of the Cash Cage. That person was armed with a weapon of some sort, and stopped only a single step behind the object of Starbuck's ire. Tyrol spotted the movement and held up his hands palm out. He wanted to show that he was not armed, and might be trying to defuse the situation before it got more out of hand.

He slowly turned to Starbuck with a patented look. It still took a few seconds for her to stop yelling, but when she finally did he asked her. "What did you use for your start up bank roll tonight, Starbuck? How do you want your money given back to you? Please give me a list of as many options as you can. I might be able to work something out with the Casino bank. I just need some options from you to get them to start talking to me, before they start calling the brown shirts on us." He did not add, before we all wind up somewhere we did not plan on being tonight. Mentioning the Brown Shirts was as close as he needed to hint at with the brawler.

Starbuck snapped her head like the namesake of the craft that she flew so well. "I gave them a Silver Cubit. One ounce, 99.9999 percent pure from a Colonial Fleet Challenge bar. I want that back, the rest of my winnings can be any way they want it. That is as long as I can spend it somewhere else, other than in this frakking place!"

She had started off talking to the Chief in an almost normal tone, but by the time she was finished she was at a full blown bellow again and aiming the windborne assault at the cashier. She also had no idea that she had balled up her fist, and placed them on her hips. This did not help the mood of the Gambling Hall's security personnel. Not one bit.

Tyrol nodded that he understood what Starbuck as said, then looked towards the cashier and started speaking slowly and as clearly as he could. "She wants to trade the values of chips, for her silver bar that she started with tonight. Does she have enough chips for the value of the silver bar?" He spoke this first in English, and then again in Caprican. That way Sam and Starbuck would understand what was going on around them, and it might calm them down somewhat. Or at least buy him some more time to work out the issue that had come up out of the blue. _"Good Gods, this is so STARBUCK. Just what I did not need tonight!"_

Starbuck had no idea what the head knuckle dragger was saying at first. When he switched to something she understood, she reached into her pants pocket. She passed over the receipt that had been given to her when she had turned over the silver bar to get the chips the table took to play. It should have the amount of chips she was given on it only a few hours ago. It had a lot of numbers and words on it, and none that she might even be able to work out what the meaning of was.

Tyrol looked at it and worked out the numbers and words on that one sheet of off white paper, and smiled an evil smile. He made sure that Starbuck saw that smile before turning again. He then passed it to the cashier with a raised eyebrow. He knew what those numbers meant. The cashier was babbling again, as soon he recognized the receipt on the table top. Then he and Tyrol went back and forth a few more times, before the cashier threw his hand up in the air in a bid to make a point of some kind that was lost on the Colonials.

The look on his face was one of absolute frustration, which even the Colonials standing around could interpret without too much trouble. Then Tyrol had to turn towards Starbuck, and let her know what had been going on, before she blew up all over the walls.

"He said that they're not supposed to make payout in anything other than the local scrip of E-Clip recharges. That is what the locals use to pay for anything. I don't think that is right. We can ask to see someone in management, if you want to?" Tyrol had a feeling what the answer would be, even before he asked it of her. And he was right about what she wanted to do. He was just happy that Starbuck had not thrown anything yet. By the look in her eyes, she was still on the ragged edge of starting a fight. Tyrol was hoping that it would only be a fist fight she would start, and not a gun fight at five paces.

Starbuck's short hair was shifting back and forth as the force of her words caused her head to vibrate like an out of tune turbo pump. "Frak yeah! I want to talk to the boss. I want my frakking metal challenge cubit back!" Starbuck was still yelling full bore, and her voice was carrying very far over the din of other voices. Even if very few people in the building knew what she was saying, her tone was enough to let people know she was about to go on the warpath about something in the cashier area.

A crowd was starting to gather in the greenhouse turned cashier and high roller room. It was starting to overfill with people. Most of whom were not spending money on those high limit games. There was other entertainment to be had, and it was for free. People were always drawn to a brewing altercation, especially if they had already had a few drinks in them to begin with. It was something in the DNA of mankind, and very much counter to everything that Darwin had written about on a planet far away called Earth.

Major Weston had been buried deep in the crowd, but he was still keeping an eye on the door to know when the two Cylons left the building. When he saw the signs of a brewing fight in the high roller area, he made his way over to investigate. He was envisioning how a major fight now would endanger his mission of keeping an eye on the two undercover Cylons. Much to his surprise it was not some of his people causing an issue tonight, but Colonials. Colonials getting into fights with his people had not been unheard of, but still a rare event. This deep in the crowd of people, he could not tell if all of his targets were in one location, so he kept closing the distance slowly.

He had been around enough different Colonials long enough to understand a lot more Caprican than he could speak. It was not long before he heard a raised female voice that strangely sounded a lot like his ex-wife. Right before she started to break things. And not all of those things were going to be inorganic in nature.

He got that irresistible urge to find out what was about to happen in the high roller room. It was the whole 'cannot look away from a train wreck about to happen' thing. When he made the last turn into the greenhouse, he saw a short haired blonde woman that look like she about to rip someone's head off. What made him want to get involved was that she was talking to the two human form Cylons he was supposed to be keeping an eye on.

For a few long seconds he thought that she might be one of Cylons also, and had somehow slipped through the little scanner. This was too important to wait, and it was well worth him risking them finding out he was following them.

"I might as well see what is happening and try to defuse this situation before someone gets hurt" Weston thought. He then walked up to Tyrol, who had his back turned to the growing crowd. Weston was not sneaking up on him, but he was not doing anything that might draw attention to himself as he moved closer to the brewing fight.

Tyrol saw the cashier stiffen and take a half step back from the counter top, and the armed support's face went pale as it looked like all of the blood had drained out of it. What went through his mind was that Starbuck, or maybe Sam, had pulled a weapon of some kind out. If they had done something that dumb, it was about to go very bad. Maybe up to the level of deadly, and very soon. He started to breathe again when he heard the new voice coming from behind him, and now he understood the reaction of the Earthers he had been trying to deal with unsuccessfully.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Tyrol?" The words came out in a slow and steady tone. One that was used to getting answers for his questions. And without any delay in getting those answers he wanted or needed to have.

Tyrol had a sly knowing smile on his face when he turned so that both Earthers were more or less to his front and could see them all. Before he started to speak, he made sure that the smile had dropped from his face. He was unconsciously treating this military commander the same way as he would have treated Admiral Adama. "Major Weston. My friend Kara, who is working with Admiral Adama in helping with part of the supply situation in the fleet, had traded in a silver bar for playing chips tonight."

He pointed to the receipt that was still on the cashier's wood top table for everyone to see. "She has more than enough chips turned in to the cashier for him to give the bar back with a good bit of extra to spare. But they are saying it is against policy, and will not cash the silver bar back out to her. She and I do not think that this is a fair deal. She was not told that she could not get the bar back, after she had traded it in for gambling chips."

Weston reached past the Colonial/Cylon and took the slip of paper off the desk top in front of the cashier. Mike then looked at the numbers and text printed on the sheet. Then he looked at the chips stacked in piles on the cashier's side of the table, and to his surprise, she did indeed have more chips than what she had been given for the metal bar earlier in the night.

He made eye contact with the cashier, and then went into full commander mode. Now that the Cylon called Tyrol had said the name, Mike was able to connect a few dots and figure out who the blonde woman was. He was able to remember some of the highlights and lowlights of her bio that he had read about a few days ago. It would seem that she was as good gambler as the folder had hinted at.

Mike was looking face to face with the brick house of a cashier, and he could see little beads of sweat building up on his forehead. "The value of silver has not gone up or down since she cashed in the bar, am I right?" Mike was looking at the cashier with a level gaze, but he was also watching Tyrol out of the corner of his eye.

The cashier rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and was now silently wishing that someone with more authority than he had, would get their fat ass here right about then. He had to answer the Major's question, but he did not want to lose his job at the same time. _"So much for this being a quite night",_ thought the cashier.

He went with the barest minimum of answers that he could legally get away with. All he could do was play for some extra time, and hope that he was not going to lose his job by the end of the night. "No." As he said the word, he pressed the 'Oh Frak' button mounted under the counter again. And he started waiting some more for someone that made more money than he did to come down. One part of his brain kept coming up with different ways by which he would not have a job by the time his shift ended.

Weston did not break stride with the questions after the minimum response he had gotten. They were starting to draw an even larger crowd, and that would hurt the Hall's bottom line even more tonight. That was because by now all of the high rollers had stopped playing their various games, and had moved to get a better view of the anticipated fireworks. Now Mike threw some more gas on the fire. "Do you still have the bar, in your till?"

It was again a one word response that came from the Cashier, and it sound forced to his own ears. "Yes." More sweat was starting to buildup on the cashier's forehead and upper lip. Same with the armed Backup as he finally worked out that they were in trouble. Both could feel what was going to happen next, and it did not matter what the cashier said. They could see what was going to happen next, and both were dreading it.

Major Weston was starting to grow tired of the one word replies. He had to fight to keep his voice level and his face still as this wore on. "Okay this is getting nowhere fast." Mike took a slight breath and put his own hands on his hips. "How about you go get Tabatha for me?" The smile he gave the cashier was not friendly. Not friendly at all. It was more sharklike, complete with thin lips and lots of teeth showing.

This time the cashier said more than one word back to the Major. And he said it loud enough, for the rest of the people nearby to hear it from at least a dozen feet back from the Major. "I sent for her already... Twice." He gave the Major his own thin lipped smile, and the Major made a note to check this person's background when he got the chance. Just to be sure about a few things.

He liked somewhat how this person was acting in a very high pressure, but noncombat situation. With a little more training from the right person, he might have some useful military related skills. He had called for backup, and he was trying his best not to escalate the issue. An issue that was so far above his pay grade, it would give most people a nose bleed. He just needed a little more training to be better at it. This person might have a better future in the slowly growing law enforcement office, instead of as a cashier in the Gambling Hall.

Starbuck was watching the two talking back and forth, but it was more due to dumb luck than anything else that she had decided to keep her big mouth shut for the time being. Due to her well-developed situation awareness, she was the first to see the new addition to the fight. The newcomer was someone of power. Starbuck could smell it coming off of him, even if she could not understand what he was saying to the dumb frakker who would not give her the silver bar back.

He reminded her of a younger Bill Adama, and he had the same look that told her he was not happy with what the cashier was telling him. She was about to ask Tyrol, who seemed to know this stranger, what was going on. She had to stop in mid-movement when she saw someone else knifing threw the crowd toward them like a shark through bait fish.

It was a woman that looked to be in her early fifties. She walked or more to the point strutted up, and shook hands with the other Earther in a business-like manner. What followed was rapid fire speaking that just made Starbuck madder that she could not follow a single word that was flying around her.

She looked at her husband and let a little of the anger burn itself out, by a doing a little handy venting that should be safe between them. "Why can't they speak Caprican standard, like everyone else?" There was more than a little heat in her words, along with a good bit of exasperation to mix with it. She could see something in her husband's eyes, he was worried. She did not think it was about her either. "Did he know one of these two Earthers?"

To her utter surprise the newly arrived male spoke over his shoulder back to her. It was heavily accented Caprican, but you could follow it without that much difficulty. The tone was a cross between Colonial Tigh and Admiral Adama's. "Because Captain Thrace, we call what you speak a version of very old Greek mixed with some Latin. And both have been dead languages for a very long time, at least were we come from. They are dead languages for most anyone but the very few overeducated teachers and bankers."

Starbuck looked around, but she could see that both Tyrol and Sam were just as stunned as she was at the reply the man had given her. The male stranger picked up the silver cubit bar and the card with writing on it, and passed them to her while her jaw was still hanging open in the breeze. Starbuck was at a loss for words, but was able to take the offered metal and paper without botching it by saying anything that might be... off color. She was just having a hard time communicating much of anything, as well as tasting the foot in her mouth. She could feel her face turning red, and it was not because of her anger this time.

After giving the silver bar back to the Colonial, Mike turned back to face the older woman. "Thank you Tabatha. I know this was against your policies, but maybe you might want to change them in the future." Mike stopped talking at the look the nice looking older woman gave him, and changed the tact he had been on. "Or maybe you could just post a nice little sign for the Colonials to know what is up? I know of one Colonial that used gold bars to buy a suit of new Explorer EBA complete with jetpack and training. I would bet that you will have more and more of these issues, as they come off the ships. It is just something that I would do, if I were you."

Tabatha held out a thin, long, and elegant hand and shook the Major's heavy mitts again. She raised a single eyebrow at what he had just said to her. "Major, I will take your suggestions under advisement. I think you're right. About it helping the Colonials understand the rules of the house. However keeping the overall group of them happy is your line of work, not mine. My job is to take their money, without them realizing it. But I will have to think about it. For now I am keeping the rules as they are." When she let go of the Majors' hand she turned and strolled away, quickly disappearing into the crowds like a queen among her serfs.

Tyrol turned back around and looked at Starbuck. Her face was still going the way a fish does when it's first out of water. So he stepped in again, now that the other woman was gone. Part of it was to buy Starbuck enough time to get her feet back under her. "Thank you Major Weston. Do you think that this place might get one of those little computers Duck used? It might be helpful in larger gathering places like this." Tyrol pointed to the cashier first at his back, and the newly arrived lower level boss standing near his back. "When they start letting more people off the ships, it might be helpful to have one of them here, Warehouse One, and any other place where groups of them might congregate. It would help when new issues come up. I might be able to help them maybe get worked out, before they can get too far out of hand."

Major Weston was just starting to try to back away, and get back out of these Colonials' line of sight until they left the building. But he came to a complete stop, when the Colonial/Cylon made a comment directed to him. "That is a good idea Mr. Tyrol. I don't know how many we have with us, or how many that can be re-tasked from other missions. But I will pass it along up the food chain. Have a good night. Well, what is left of it anyway." Major Weston gave a slight wave of his hand, and headed for the front door. He disappeared into the crowd after only about a dozen paces.

Tyrol felt all the eyes in the Gambling Hall on them, and his skin started to crawl. He was getting the fight or flight reaction, now that Major Weston had left the area. He shot the other two Colonial standing near him a look, and put as much concern as he could into it. "I think we might need to go now. Do you think we might go to your hotel, and split the money Sam and I made tonight? I think we have drawn a little too much attention here to have any privacy."

He did not feel that there were any threatening looks coming at him. Well besides the looks he was getting from the cashier and his bodyguard that is. He just could not get over the feeling that people were watching him way too closely. It was almost like he was back in basic training, with Drill Instructors that seemed to be hiding behind every tree and bush.

Tyrol had spoken in rapid fire Caprican, so only the three of them knew what they were talking about. Well, that was the hope he had, any way. Sam was also starting to get the feeling that the crowd was closing in on him, and he also did not like it. He also did not think that it was just a happenstance that the head of the Earthers military had just happened to be nearby to help them out.

He had that strange feeling at the back of his mind. So he answered for Starbuck before she even had a chance to voice any counter ideas that she might be able to come up with. "That sounds good to me." He gave Starbuck a look as he was talking, and tried to tell her he wanted to leave right the frak now. All without saying a word. He was not as sure as Tyrol was, that any of the locals did not understand what they were saying after all.

Sam turned and headed to the door as soon as he saw Starbuck raise her eyebrows at him. He did not look behind himself, until he was pushing open the heavy wooden door to escape the press of people around him. The other two were only a step or two behind him, at most. After Sam had said something to reinforce what the Chief had said, she had also stared to feel the eyes looking her way. That was enough for her to have her skin start to crawl. Every other face that she saw was not an Earther but a Number Two human form Cylon.

The three of them did not say any more by unspoken mutual agreement. That is until they left the last dim pool of light outside of the Gambling Hall behind them, and far beyond earshot of anybody still inside. They started shooting each other looks as they walked in the dark night air. And finally it was Starbuck who broke the silence with a cocky grin to accompany her words. "Well that is going to take some getting used to. That is definitely not how they did things. At least not before I was put in that hole, or am I going crazy?" A slightly off center giggle slipped from her lips by accident. She knew that she was a little crazy, now she was not too sure.

Sam shot her a look first, then glanced back towards the Hall behind them. Then he looked back to his wife, before saying anything. "You're right, I never saw a Casino change their rules for a pair of low rollers like us. Frak, not even when I helped the Buccaneers win the first championship, and we were having a team party at one of the nicest casinos I've ever been to. That is frakking crazy for it to happen all the way back here." He was shaking his head slightly from side to side in both wonder and concern.

Starbuck shot looks at the two men walking with her, one at time, spending a few seconds on each one of their faces. Then her eyes stayed on the Deck Chief. "That's not the only thing that's not like it was, before I was working my way through as many Number Two's that I could with my bare hands. Before those frakkers came back, Helo was the XO in training for the Admiral. When they first got me back up to the old girl, after the fighting was done, I saw him strapping on a Viper, supposedly to go back out on a patrol. When the frak did that happen?" She did not want to talk about the Gambling Hall and all of those eyes that she could still feel on her skin.

Tyrol did not miss a step, but he did not turn to look at Kara. He was nodding his head up and down, but only slightly. He was surprised that she had noticed something like that, and even more surprised that she would bring it up now. "Yeah, I saw that the first day after they gave me my old job back. I asked around while I was helping figure out the damage done with the loss of that hangar pod. It took some time to find out what happened. It seems that when the Admiral was kind of training him up to replace Saul as XO, turns out he did not have enough experience on how to work with Vipers and their crews."

Tyrol gave a soft chuckle, and kept talking as they walked toward the rented cabin. "I think part of it was just an excuse for the Old Man to get behind the controls of a Viper again. Anyway, he would go out with Helo every few days, and train him up on how to fly and work with Vipers. He already had Raptors and ECO operations down very pat. From what I hear, he had some skill on the old school Vipers also. With a teacher like Bill Adama, I'm sure that had to help a lot on his learning curve. Anyway, when the Old Man started doing the planning to come back to get the Cylons off of us, and found out that Colonel Tigh was back up to speed again, that he had been taking control of all of the military matters to fight the Cylons dirtside, it seems that Helo knew his job was not going to last long very long. With the shortage of Raptors, having more time on Vipers seemed like the best idea for a long term job. Starbuck, if you have time later, you might want to talk to some of the Viper jocks between shifts. They have some good things to say about him. He was the one leading the planning and operation for the Raptors and Vipers."

Tyrol stopped talking for a few seconds when the three of them passed pretty close to a small group of locals. They were sitting under a tree, talking in low tones amongst themselves. He broke off and said something to them, before catching back up to the other two Colonials who had kept walking. When they had passed out of earshot again, Tyrol started right back up with his story. "He was kind of demoted to CAG, he led the massive Viper and Raptor battle to keep all of the Cylon Raiders off of the battlestars. And he did a bang up job, from what I have heard from both Viper and Raptor crews." Tyrol might have wanted to say more, but they were now about to enter the rented place that Sam and Kara were going to be using for the next bit of time.


	3. Chapter 3 1 1 equals trouble

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and follow, thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 3 One Plus One Equals trouble**

Once the door to the lodging house was closed and locked behind Sam, Kara and Tyrol, they all felt a weight lift off their shoulders. The sound of the metal falling home made them feel as if the wooden walled cabin was now wrapped in battlestar armor.

In the center of the main living room was a nice, heavy wooden table that was just low enough it could also serve as a foot rest. That was the perfect height for it to be put to good use at what was not its secondary design function. Kara and her husband took the couch and Galen pulled one of the thick padded chairs over to one side of the short wooden table. Before he sat down he put the two sheets of paper he had been given at the cash cage down on the table. When he took the padded seat he leaned over and pushed the two pages over to Sam. He just had a sudden urge to get off his feet, and up on the hard wood of the coffee table went his muddy boots. He realized that he had been on them since the noon meal today.

Tyrol sat back deeper into his chair, but just enough that he could still reach his paper and the words printed on it and see Sam's face. "I wasn't able to exchange your silver bar for cash to place bets with without going all the way to the cash cage. So I had to use what scrip we had on hand. I don't think you would have wanted me to risk something that valuable on a bet. Even if I could have found someone willing to place a bet of that magnitude. Maybe if we have more time to plan, I could have taken care of that and would have been ready to place some good sized wagers."

The Chief stopped talking and looked at the couple sitting in the leather covered and feather stuff couch. They seemed too comfortable. It was like they were getting ready to finish the day, but a military day was not over until the paper work was done. "Are you going to write down how much you spent today?" He looked at Starbuck, then at Sam and then back to Starbuck. They were just sitting on the couch looking back at him with blank looks on their faces. He again stopped talking, and then waited for a few long seconds. When they still did not move, to say, grab pen and paper, he knew that these little lambs were lost or in over their heads.

"Officers." He shook his head slowly from side to side. "Captain Thrace from what I was told, and correct me if I'm wrong, you're going to be using your skills to get the capital needed to buy items the Fleet needs. This is under the Admiral's direct orders, and funding. You might want to keep a written record of all of your daily transactions, no matter how small they might be. When the Quorum finds out, and they will sooner or later about you and the gambling, they might want to look at the books."

"I take that back. More than a few of them will demand to look at the books. It they find something they don't like, they could use it against the Old Man. You can bet your bottom cubit those lazy frakkers would do that! And any little thing will be blown up, to make it look like you were doing the high living while the rest of us Colonials were starving to death."

The color drained from Starbuck's face, and she flew off the couch. It was like she was still strapped to a Viper, or something had pinched her in that sensitive spot between the big toe and the next one. She went back to the bedroom with boot heals flashing, and returned quickly with a Colonial Military standard ledger.

It was the one that someone from Adama's staff had given to her before the Admiral had showed up for the Raptor flight down to the village. Now she understood what it was supposed to be used for. As she opened it, she thought it would have been nice if they had told her before she had almost frakked up by the numbers.

She made some quick notes about dates, and expenses they had to pay for so far. She even made notes about the different food places, and the information about the issues she had getting the silver bar back out of the cash cage. It did not take that long, maybe six or seven minutes to get all of the information written down into the book. Then she looked back up to the Chief, and gave him a thank you nod for his pointing out the issue.

As she was writing the information down, she remembered that she had, in fact, been told to do just that. She had just forgotten all about it. Having to keep a detailed diary was something she had not done since she was a little girl. She hoped it would not take that long get back into the habit.

Tyrol nodded towards Starbuck and got a little more relaxed. He started giving the two of them a back brief on what he had done, and what he had learned about these people. It was just general knowledge of the village. Most of it should have been briefed to the pair, but after the SNAFU about the log book, Tyrol was not taking any chances. When he was done, he had a sly smile on his face.

"Now, back to business. We should be able to work on getting better bets on you the next time you play, Sam. When you started the game, I could get twenty to one odds on just about everything, but they were only small bets on a low level game. And when you missed your first two shots after that layup, the locals thought they had me in the bag."

Tyrol gave a sly grin. "I was able to make up for the two lost bets with the next one. They thought they were fleecing the sheep. It turns out, they were the sheep tonight. We will have to go re-look at the rules for team betting, when I get some free time. I found out that we were not told all of the little ins and outs. That's because the locals don't like it when people place bets that a team they are on will lose the game, or they may otherwise sabotage the game somehow."

"I do know that you will be moved up with Karl to a higher skill level team. That is if you want that to happen? The money is better, and the other teams will have higher skills. The move would be up to you. I don't know if they will pull Karl up without you. I understand that he is good, but he is better with someone like you that can understand him. Right now you two are the best at this sport so far among the Colonials. And by the way the team you were on tonight had been listed as the expected loser. Them winning tonight, is being laid at yours and Karl's feet."

Sam nodded his understanding. Towards the end of the game tonight, he had started to think that this was almost too easy. And as a sports nut, he always wanted to test himself against the best of anyone that might be around. If he moved to a higher level, he would have better players to test himself against, as well as maybe a bigger payday. "I would like that. What do I have to do?"

Tyrol smiled, that was what he thought Sam would want to do. "All you have to do is check in at the court side referee's desk as early as you can on the day you want to play. And tell them you want to play up today. The desk will give you a time for when your game will start. I have a feeling that they keep a list of names that are better players hidden away somewhere. They are the ones that let the Gambling Hall know who is playing on what team. If you don't want to play at that level, you don't have to. Then you can just show up whenever you want to play. The higher level you play, the larger or more numerous are the bets being put out. I split the money we won tonight eighty-twenty. Your eighty percent share is on account at the Hall, this is your receipt. I put my twenty into my account that I have been using for some time now."

Tyrol reached into one of his outer coat pockets, and passed the silver bar back over to its owner. "If you leave it in the bank it will gain about one percent of value per month on the average of what you keep in it for that month. The Hall is the only place that can act as a bank like we are used to dealing with, but it's respected and it is closely regulated by the Settlement Leadership."

He took a breath and looked over at Starbuck. He thought that he might be crossing a line, but he thought it might be a good idea any way. "I would suggest you open an account with them also, Starbuck. They will give you a little device for free so that when you buy stuff, it will auto-transfer the funds to whoever you might be shopping from. Or you can pay with chits, at any of the market stalls. Both work very well here in the Settlement. What I mean is, that both can be used to purchase items outside of the Hall. They also will be able to give you a third person list of how much you're spending. All you will have to do, is ask someone at the cash cage for a statement. I think it will take about five minutes or so to get a copy. It will depend on how busy they are when you ask for it. "

Sam looked at his receipt, and then looked at Starbuck's own slip of paper. The total numbers were not even close to what she had brought in tonight, but after some quick math in his head, it came to him. Sam's part of the deal had given him ten percent of what his wife won tonight. At first he had been a little let down by how low that number was compared to what his wife had gotten. Then again, she had been able to start with capital in the form of the silver cubit bar, to back her bets. That was not a bad deal for a few hours' worth of fun.

"I think that is fair. How did you do Kara?" He wanted his wife to work the numbers for herself, he did not know why. But it did seem like they had made a good start in getting funds that the Admiral needed them to.

Kara Thrace was checking the paperwork, and was making some notes on the side of the sheet of paper. "I was able to get my seed money back." She stopped talking and her eyes went wide, and her voice went a little bit on the loud side out of excitement. "And looks like I almost doubled my money! Holy frak! If I had not lost those last three hands, I would have doubled my money easily. Too bad you two didn't pull me off the table earlier."

She looked up and smiled at the two other men. It was a surprise to her that she had done so well. It would seem that she had lost count of what she was betting on each hand, after all. About the only thing she had known was that she was winning more than she was losing. She forced her voice to calm down a little. "I would say that I did okay. I want to try a different card game tomorrow."

She made a face as she looked down at her notes, and the loose papers on the coffee table that seemed to have multiplied all on their own. Starbuck was getting excited at how her little experiment had worked out. "They called it Michigan Hold'em. It's not like anything I've seen or heard of before. It looked frakking easy, but I bet that it just means that there are hidden traps in there somewhere." She gave a sly smile, and she was almost bubbling with excitement. "I could get used to being a paid gambler for a living."

Before she could say more, someone knocked hard three times on the door to the cabin. Sam and Kara shot a look at each other, then both reached for their side arms in smooth twin motions of their dominant hands. With weapons in hand, the pair of fighters started looking around the room. They wanted to find what might be the best defensible position for any threat that might be coming through the door in the next few seconds.

Tyrol looked a little sheepish as he realized what happened. "Sorry, I left a message for a friend of mine to come over after we left the Hall. I hope you don't mind. He's pretty smart, and has made a Viper load of money finding minerals that the Settlement needed. That means that he is very rich, compared to most of the Earthers that you're going to meet."

Tyrol looked at each of them, and gave a slight shrug. "He also often works with the Triumvirate. That's when they need something on the odd side found. They call him over, and offer him the job. He takes those jobs most of the time. That's if he is not up to his eyeballs in other deals. I thought he might be of some help to talk with. Is it okay? I could tell him just to meet me for lunch tomorrow, and that you're not ready to have to deal with more people tonight. He'd understand."

Tyrol kept his face still as he talked. He hoped that he would not have to blow his friend off. "I hope he would, anyway. He's been getting touchier lately about people calling him an oracle and all. Now that more Colonials are finding out about his history, he'd been trying to stay away from groups of strangers in general."

Kara nodded her head up and down slowly. The weapon went back into the holster, and she sat back down on the couch with a plop. Sam put his weapon away but he did not return to the couch. When her heart slowed down she looked back at the table. She was already looking at her notes, so she was not paying that much attention to the Chief. There was no threat, so why worry about it?

Sam only nodded to the other man, but knew that he had been given two options on what to do next. And since Kara had not said which one she wanted to do, Sam took that to mean she was leaning towards letting the chief's friend in. "Sure Chief. It would be good to know someone else who might be able to help in communicating with these Earthers. Besides, any friend of yours, Chief, is a person I think would be good to know around here." A little buttering up never hurt, Sam thought though he was careful not to say that last bit aloud. He did not want to offend the Chief.

Tyrol went to the door after leaving the other two Colonials in the main living room. He first looked through the little round hole drilled into the four inches of hard wood, before opening. He just wanted to make sure that it was who he thought it might be. It was a nice little touch, and he wished he had one in his old room aboard the Bucket. Instead of being surprised whenever he opened the hatch every time a bell was rung by someone in the corridor. As it turned out, it was his friend. Tyrol let him in, and the mixed pair of Colonial and Earther walked back to the living room.

Tyrol lead the other man into the main living room of the cabin. Then he stepped off to one side so that the other two could see the new person clearly. With a little bit of flair, he made the introductions. "Kara Thrace, Sam Anders this is Dexter Wood. He's the one I was telling you about tonight."

Dexter walked over to the male and female Colonial standing by the couch and coffee table, and shook hands first with Sam then with Starbuck. That was when it hit the fan in a way no one in the room had seen before. And later, would hope to never happen to any one of them again.

Both of the humans locked eyes, both sets of eyes glazed over, and then they started some kind of chanting together. In both English and Caprican, the pair started talking in sync with each other. "A Heavy Raider returns to this system to scout in 132 days from the next sunrise." Sam and Tyrol just looked at the two of them, like the pair were living two legged bombs of some kind.

As soon as they had finished talking. Dexter reached out and took the pad with cut corners right out of Sam's hands along with its attached pen. His left hand took the pen, activated it, and started to fly across the page. It was moving like an old school ink jet printer. It moved from one side of the pad to the other, sometimes touching the pad and other times it was just slightly above the lined paper.

"What the FRAK!" came from both men at exactly the same second. It was a crazy few seconds, as the two Colonial men's head swiveled back and forth, taking in what was happening. They were between the two oblivious people who were drawing on the long sheets of paper. More and more sheets were quickly filled with line drawings and side notes as the pens flew across the pages at a steady pace. The eerie thing was that their eyes were closed, or close enough that Sam and Tyrol could not tell the difference. The hairs on the back of their necks were standing up like they were in a lightning storm. This was so not right!

Sam looked at Tyrol and used his head to point to the kitchen. Without saying another word they took a few steps away. You did not interrupt oracles in the middle of something, or something bad could happen. The two men just went to the kitchen to have something to drink, and wait and see what might happen next. Maybe Zeus might be knocking on the door before the sun rose again.

If they had been from any other place in the universe, the pair might have tried to stop the man and woman in the trance. That would not have turned out well for the two men. It would have caused violent actions to happen to anyone who might have interrupted them. That was what most likely would have happened, but they would not know that for some time. Also, the two oracles might have ended up in a pair of padded cells for the rest of their lives if they had been on Earth back in the old times. Before the massive energy rifts killed a billion people on that blue marble of a planet. The padded rooms would have been for their own safety of course.

* * *

It was late and it was Sam who woke up first with a jolt, going from dead asleep to fully awake in an eye blink. Sam did not know what had woken him up, or even when they had fallen asleep. It might have been the amazingly loud snore coming from the Chief sleeping in a bar chair across from him.

Sam knocked on the table's thick wooden top with two hard raps. Since Tyrol had his ear on the wooden top, it sounded like someone had dropped a heavy book near his head. Twice.

Needless to say he woke up, and would not be needing to go back to sleep to finish removing the cobwebs out of his brain any time soon. It is hard to go back to sleep when you have a loud ringing in your ear. Particularly one showing no signs of going away anytime soonish. He and Tyrol had moved to the kitchen to give the two people with glazed eyes some room. It also served to keep the two men from freaking out even more as the two maybe possessed people worked on their pads of paper with pens flying across the pages. The little kitchen had food, water, and even an entertainment screen to help them pass the time. Sam was surprised that they had fallen asleep, given the situation they had found themselves in.

Sam dropped his feet off his other stool, and did a nice long stretch that had always worked before to get most of the kinks out of his body. His sleepy eyes were drawn to the screen, with its shifting and flashing images of color. The entertainment screen was flashing in white letters captioning in Caprican what was being said in the strange language of the Earthers.

Sam still had no idea why someone would want to watch 'Real Housewives of Chi-town', even if they did not have anything else to do. But it was something to pass the time, if you were tired of hitting your thumb with a hammer or the like. That was when he noticed that he was cold, and that the living room was devoid of all sound. Sam tried to find the notes on how to turn the heat on, but his sleep addled brain was not helping him figure out something that had sounded so simple a few hours ago. There was only one other thing he thought he could do, so he went to check on Starbuck in the other room.

The room was quiet, and the only sources of light in the room were the three bulbs high in the ceiling that had been on since they got back in the night before. Starbuck was asleep on the animal skin covered, feather filled couch. Dexter was splayed out on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, and appeared to be asleep on the bare hard wood floor also.

It looked like they had been some kind of living and breathing puppets with their strings suddenly cut. Letting them fall where they may. Sam checked out the pads of paper near each of the sleeping bodies. They both looked about the same, but somehow different. He could not put his finger on how or why they might be different though.

He put down the pad that the Earther had been using, and spent more time looking at Starbuck's pad. It had been the nearest to her sleeping form. She had gone through a few dozen sheets of almost two foot long, off white rectangle paper. It was the aesthetics of the drawing that drew his attention, as he flipped through the pages of black inch drawings.

It had been Sam's experience that women tended to have better handwriting than the average man. That was until he met Starbuck. He had told her one time, that she could not draw a straight line even if she used a ruler and a T square to do the job. She could do some amazing things with paint. What she had drawn on those sheets of paper were amazing, almost the same quality as what you would see in an art gallery back home.

It was just more proof to him that she had been possessed by one of the Lords somehow. There was one thing about Sam that most people did not know. Until sometime after the Cylons had attacked, he had not believed in any of what his peers would have referred to as a higher power.

He set this pad of paper back down where it had been lying, and started to work on the heat issue. If anything this room was cooler than the building's main kitchen area.

Sam was a city boy and a rich one at that, but after spending several months in the deep backwoods fighting Cylons, let's just say, that he had learned a few things. Different ways to take down a Cylon with the limited weapons they could get their hands on in the first few days of the war, for example. How to make a fire, and make it very quickly if he needed to, was another one.

The one team doctor who had been at the resort, had harped on about how bad hypothermia or the common cold could be. Particularly since they did not have the drugs or hospitals to help them anymore. With the power cut off by the attack, they had to learn a few ways to make fire to fight off the chill. And the back country mountains could be chilly indeed. He went around to one side of the fireplace and found the items he needed to work on taking the chill out of the room.

First was the box of fluffy material to catch the spark or small flame. Next he pulled out some small twigs, and wood parts for the kindling. Then he put some of the bigger logs at the back of fireplace hearth. He was so totally focused on the task before him that in what seemed like no time at all, he had a fire built, burning nicely in the stone fireplace. As the fire built up some of the small wood bits started turning into hot coals. Sam put on larger and larger cut and dried wood on the still growing fire. When he put what seemed to be average sized split wood logs on top of the still smallish but steadily growing fire, he stood up and took a few steps back.

He rubbed his hands together out of habit, and held out his hands towards the top of the fire hearth to test the heat output. This was more out of habit, than of any real use. But the fire was already putting out some heat into the large room, and with the size of the flames, it would really start to warm up nicely over the next few minutes.

With that task done, he walked into the green house for only the second time since he had been on this planet surface. It was dark in the glass and plastic walled room, but only two steps in a light clicked on automatically. Somehow it knew someone was stepping into this room. Sam was used to that type of technology, so he hardly took note of it when it activated. What he did notice right off the bat was that it was even colder in this room than it was in the main house.

That was a major concern for him. He did not want to have to pay for any damages done to the plants because they had been damaged by the cold. From the little briefing they had been given, he had no doubt that there would be some kind of charges for any damage done to the sensitive planets. As he looked around the long room filled with growing things, he saw the back of the stone fireplace, and quickly stepped over to it with his long legs.

Sam checked the back of the chimney. It was covered with rounded stones taken from the river, and also acted as one wall of the greenhouse. He ran his hand down from a point that was as high as he could reach on the stone faced wall, then slowly pulled it down to where he thought the floor of the hearth area might be on the other side of the stone. The area immediately around the back of the chimney was deliberately kept clear. It was so that the hotter rocks would not harm plants, or maybe start a fire in the greenhouse with the heat from a fireplace burning for long hours.

Sam could just start to feel some warmth coming from one layer of the chimney rocks with the back of his hand. He thought it would not take long for the rocks to get warmer, and in turn make the greenhouse warmer by radiating the heat from the rocks out into the cooler air.

What he did not know was that a heater was wired into the greenhouse, and powered by an E-Clip. It was programmed to kick in if the greenhouse temperature dropped one degree lower than it had been when he started the fire. The burning fire would stop the cost of that E-clip from being added to their rental bill, at least for tonight. It would not have been the first time that someone had forgotten to get a fire going in this rental. For people who had lived in those metal cans for so long, a fire burning was not something they were used to having or making for that matter.

Sam reentered the main house through the second door of the Greenhouse, and now had the back of the couch blocking his view of his sleeping wife. He walked just close enough to see that she was still sleeping, before backing away from the couch again. The room still felt cool to him, so he went into the bedroom, and quickly found an extra blanket folded up at the foot of the bed.

If he had found two of the thick coverings, he would have brought both of them into the living room. But he found only the one on the bed. This was a little strange to Sam, after spending so long on this cool damp planet. He was set on who that the blanket was going to go to. It was to go to his wife, even if he had found two. After all, he would not be sleeping with the other guy.

Sam thought it best that he took care of his partner that he had come to know so well. The strange man would just have to understand, and be cold until the still warming up fire did its job on the air of the room. Sam returned to the living room, and was just about to drape the warm blanket over Starbuck when she went from the sleep of the dead, to moving without giving any warning of the upcoming change.

Sam Anders was a pretty stable guy, and nothing much made him jump if he saw it coming. It was a very short list of items, which would make him jump like a little girl in a theater. At the top of that short list, was when his wife sat up and started to move. It was not so much that she had moved. It was how she moved when she shot up off the couch as he was trying to spread the thick blanket over her. It was not the normal way for a human to move, or even the normal way for Starbuck to move. It looked to Sam that she moved like the old lessons and recordings they had played back in his first year of engineering school.

They had been all about how the early model Cylons moved and acted, before and during the first war that man had against their creations. If he had been from Rifts Earth or seen more of the entertainment shows that they had brought with them, he would have said that she moved like an old style movie vampire rising from his coffin after sleeping all day. At least for the part when she had come up off the flat part of the leather couch. It was like someone had her on some kind of remote control. And in a way she was.

When he heard more scratching on paper, he looked over and saw the glassy eyed stranger was also working on the paper pad near him again. He turned to watch his wife find the slightly moved pad of paper and flip to the last sheet she had been working on. With that same glassy eyed looked she found a pen and went back to drawing on the paper. Sam just dropped the warm covering on the floor, and returned to the kitchen where it was not as creepy, at least not yet. Kara had done some crazy things since he had met her, and he had heard even more about her after she had pulled his people off of Caprica. None of them could hold a candle to what was happening with her tonight. Before tonight he would have thought that he was beyond her being able to surprise him.

Somehow Tyrol was sleeping again, but there was no way that Sam was going back to sleep just yet. His creeped out meter was still way too high for anything like sleep to happen. He used the small black remote controller to skip to a show that looked like it would be more his style of entertainment. After being on the run for so long, and with a very limited supply of books and entertainment shows, having a wide selection of entertainment that he had never heard about before was kind of nice. He had no idea what 'The D-Bee Patrol' was, and in the end it did not matter to him. He was asleep again, before the opening credits had finished rolling across the screen and the opening scene had played across the 17 inch screen.

"Hey Sam, wake up." The sound was not loud or shrill. It just was. It was repeated, but took a third time before it achieved its goal. The voice was male, and sounded tired.

Sam had not been sleeping that heavily so he did not jump out of the chair he was using to catch some sleep. When his brain caught up to the real world, he more or less just turned his head, and opened one eye to see who was calling his name. The first thing he noticed was the light streaming into the strange home through a pair of glass covered holes in the roof over his head. Part of his mind knew that they were skylights, and was a good way to add light without using any power. That is as long as it was light outside.

 _"It must have an auto shutter or something to keep the light from spilling out and being seen by unwanted persons."_ He thought to himself.

"Well the sun's up," was the only vocal reply to the Colonial Deck Chief waking him up. That was as good a reply as any, given the situation the two men had found themselves in.

Tyrol was standing off to one side so that he could see Sam, but he was also peering around a corner into the living room. "I put some more wood on the fire that you made while you were still asleep. We might want to put a few more logs on in a bit if we need to keep it going for a few more hours. I was worried that it might be putting out a bit too much heat."

Tyrol gave a slight shrug and shot a look over to the ex-resistance leader. "You might have a better idea about that than I do. They are sleeping again, by the way. As near as I can tell they work for two hours, sleep for one hour, and then repeat the cycle."

Now he gave Sam a slight smile. "In case you wanted to know. The sun has been up for a few hours now." Tyrol used his chin to point to the skylights, which might stop Sam from asking a dumb question. Such as if he had left the dwelling while he had been snoring in the bar chair. "How are you feeling?"

 _"Well I don't think I'm going to be allowed to go back to sleep again,"_ thought Sam to himself. "I'm okay. Won't say I'm good but..." He stopped talking as he yawned and launched into a massive stretch starting from his toes going all of the way to his fingertips. He had to stop talking as his bones audibly popped and ground as the muscles, tendons, and bones moved out of positions they had held for hours. "Okay. What do we do now, Chief? You've been dealing with these people longer than anyone that I know of. So I'm looking for anything in the way of ideas." Sam completed the stretch by throwing both arms into the air over his head. "Because I'm drawing a blank on what to do next."

Tyrol shrugged, and walked away from his vantage point. He moved deeper into the kitchen, giving up a clear view of the living room and its twin occupants. "You're the one married to an oracle, not me. What is normal for her?"

Sam tilted his head to one side, then dropped his feet off the other barstool he had been using to be a little more vertical. "Chief... you know this is Starbuck we're talking about." His voice carried the intent of the statement with a 'you have got to be frakking with me' look. "You've known her a frak ton longer than I have. What do you think is normal for her?" The tone of his voice was just pushing the line between funny and brittle.

A strange look crossed the knuckle dragger chief's face almost too fast for the average person to read. "Uhhh," was his one word reply to the Colonial superstar's question. Sam had just scored a rapid fired point about the Viper pilot on the Deck Chief.

Sam had a self-satisfied and smug look plastered all over his face. He knew he had just scored a good point against the other man. He bet the old chief was not on the receiving end of something like that very often. "That was about what I thought you'd say."

Tyrol made a face with the edges of his lips pointing down. He was in deep thought, and he did not like what was coming to mind no matter what idea he could come up with. When he heard more scribbling coming from the living room again, Tyrol took the sound as an opportunity to change the subject a little. He hooked a thumb towards the direction of the sound, and looked at Sam. He tossed his head a little towards that direction, and without another word, both men went to the room that neither of them really wanted to enter but knew they had to any way.

The two men watched for a while as the two people with glassy eyes made more lines on the off white sheets of paper on the coffee table. They did not know what to do. After some time helplessly watching the pair. Sam sighed and walked over to the fireplace. He put some more logs in, enough to keep the flames going for another couple of hours.

The room was a lot warmer with the fire burning for hours now, and it felt good. Sam did not build the fire up as high as he could have, just enough that it would burn for a few more hours with a high heat output. Besides, there was not that much wood left, so he just put only a few more logs into the hearth to feed the flames slowly. It did give him some time to think, without having the chief watching him. He was looking at the fire as it slowly built up more, with more flames licking at the fresh wood. At some point he felt his head start to move up and down, nodding to himself. When he turned around, he looked at Tyrol. He needed to talk to him but not here.

He did not speak out loud, instead he pitched his voice low so that it would carry only the few feet it needed to and maybe a little further. He did not want to disturb the other two working on their strange drawings. "Chief, they said that there is some cut firewood outside, how about helping restock some of it in here? I don't know if we are going to have a long next few days or not. Having the firewood might be useful to keep it comfortable in here. Keeping it warm enough should not be that hard and it shouldn't take a lot of wood to keep the fire the right size now that that the chill is knocked down."

Tyrol nodded in agreement, and headed for the door only a pair of steps behind the sports superstar. It did not take long for them to find the stack of wood, just around one side of the house. It was a massive stack of cut and split wood of some unknown type that Sam had never seen before. It had been invisible in the night, or shade under the trees.

The Colonial wood cutting details could only pull so much wood into the refugee camp at one time. And that wood had been spread out between tens of thousands of people, with very little in the way of transports to help move it all around as needed. All of this wood was already split and looked to be mostly dry under a little overhang coming off of the rentals roof. Well, about as dry as you could expect on this wet planet. Anyway, now they just needed to get some more of the split wood inside and stacked in its holder near the fireplace.

Galen and Sam carried armload after armload back into the cabin and stacked it next to the fireplace. When that was full, another area was identified and wood started going there also. After each arm load, both men would check the two entranced people. They were going to bring in even more wood in, but someone walked up to them and wanted to enter their cabin.

Sam was not going to let something like that happen. He did not want word to get around about what was happening to his wife. He would protect her at any cost, and no matter what the cost could end up being. Sam was known to be a bit on the stubborn side once he set his mind to something. It had come in handy with the type of sports he liked to play for a living.

Tyrol did not know what was going on, but he did not like the tone or volume coming from Sam. He dropped off his armload of wood and went back outside of the cabin as fast as he possibly could. He just opened his arms and dumped the wood on the middle of the living room floor. He was almost at a run when he turned to the front door.

What he saw, was that Sam and a strange woman in her later years were almost nose to nose. They were yelling at each other in two very different languages. It seemed like she really wanted to come into the cabin. About the only thing he could make out, was that Sam was not going to let that happen. The Chief thought he had heard the words 'over my dead body' come from Sam.

That was bad. Worse, this scene was getting louder and louder with every passing second. Tyrol did not think they could use the attention that a full blown hissy fight out in full public view was sure to get them. This was a small town and news would travel faster than a battlestar's FTL jumps. Tyrol felt his heart jump into his throat, and saw the monster Murphy the Earthers had always been worried about. And he was about to ruin their lives.

Sam was just on the verge of getting physical. When Tyrol came up behind him, and started talking in that frakking language that Sam did not know any off. Whatever the man was saying to the woman, it was calming her down. That was good enough for him, at least for right now. Sam moved a few steps away from the two, and took a few steps to be able to block the door better. Just in case someone else walked up on them while Galen and the woman were talking things out.

Sam watched Tyrol and the woman talk, then all of the sudden she smiled and simply walked away like nothing had been wrong. Tyrol turned and looked at Sam, but he was not smiling at all. He hooked a thumb towards the woman walking away with some pep in her step. "She was supposed to clean the rooms daily, and cook a meal for you and Starbuck. I told her that we were good, and that we could take care of ourselves for now. She will get paid, as long as you log it on the house computer with a code she gave me."

Tyrol smiled, sure that Sam would back up what he had arranged. "She will get paid for the three hours of work she was supposed to be doing here. I didn't think you'd mind sticking with that plan. If you don't want her to come by tomorrow, just leave a note on the door. But you will need to enter the code again into the computer in the kitchen, or her boss is going to come by and want to know what's going on. I think we can work with that, don't you?" Tyrol started shooting sly glances around him as he talked to Sam out in the open in front of the rented cabin. Tyrol made a face and looked back toward Sam. Something felt wrong, but he could not put his finger on it. Not just yet.

Sam smiled a tight smile, and unblocked the way to the door of the cottage. "Thanks for taking care of that, Chief." He could feel the blood to start to cool, and his heart rate start to slow as the stress he had been under for the last few minutes ebbed away.

Tyrol walked back into the cottage and as slapped Sam on the back as he passed the other man. "No problem." Sam followed after Tyrol and the door was closed and locked a few seconds later. Things went back to normal, or at least it looked that way to the two Colonials.

* * *

Across from the rental home, two people were sitting at a set of homemade table and chairs in the early morning light. They were just playing a morning game of Cribbage, and taking some quiet time before having to start another day. One that was sure to be filled with all sorts of jobs that needed to be done. They were playing the game, and they did spend the mornings playing that game whenever they could. And they had been doing it for years, going all the way back to when they had first moved off of the ships. One had worked at the small sawmill, while the other had been working on finding local plants that were edible. Nowadays they only worked a few hours at each, then picked up the odd jobs to help who ever needed it.

It just so happened that this time, they were also being paid to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the rental home nearby as part of their normal day. They had been told to report anything that might be on the odd side. The loud commotion coming from the front of the little cottage that was normally rented out to visiting Colonials fit the criteria. So as soon as the door had closed behind the two male Colonials, they looked at each other. They had been together too long, over fifteen years, to need anything like words to communicate. One of them started a slow count to one hundred, before the female of the group picked up the little radio and made the call they had been told to make.

After the call was made, one of the pair moved a token to a certain point off to one side of the playing board. A few eye blinks latter, it was answered by the other person. She put in a different token, in a different area off to one side of the board. This was not part of the game they played each day. This was another game that they liked to play, but only between themselves. They had just made a pair of side bets on the board. It was on how long it was going to take for Major Weston to come out of the woodwork, and pay the little hotel an uninvited visit.

Each moved a second token off to one side of the board. This was a bet on how many people would be with him when he did show up to the cabin. With the side bets completed, all without a word being said, they returned to the primary game. They still kept their eyes on the hotel cottage, just as they had been paid to do. It was an exciting time for them, and the most fun they had had since they had moved into their own little home off the metal hulled ships. Most of the other people from the ships thought they both were a bit odd. They did not care. They were happy, and to them that was all that mattered. Well, besides their game, that is.

* * *

With the door safely locked behind them, Tyrol turned to looked at the two glassy eyed humans near the fireplace. It they stuck to their pattern, they would be just about getting ready to go to sleep again, very soon. After watching the pair hunch over the pads of paper for about four more minutes, it happened, just like when they woke up. They both set down their pads and pens, and stretched out to sleep once more not a few feet from those pads and pens. They were like windup toys, and their springs seemed to have just been reset somehow. Sam was the closest to them when they went back to sleep. He checked to make sure they were indeed sleeping, and not something more terminal before Tyrol could reach out to stop him.

Tyrol looked at Sam, as Sam looked around the room with an odd expression on his face. It looked to the Chief that Sam was at the end of his rope, and his grip was quickly giving out. Dealing with the cleaning and cooking maid had been the last mental straw for Sam. All after less than twenty four hours of the ordeal. It was now time to bring up what he had thought of before they started to move the replacement firewood into the house. "Sam, I think we need some help."

Sam looked down at his wife, and then looked back at the Chief. Then looked back to Kara, and back again to Tyrol. "Yeah, I think you're right. But who can help with something like this?" Sam pointed only to his wife laying on the couch, but he was referring to the whole situation. He had been thinking the same thing. The catch was, he was not sure who to call for help. Did he want to call the medicos, or one of the Earther doctors? Who could he trust? And more importantly who would Starbuck trust when she came out of whatever she was in? She was not tracking that well, and waking up seeing a doctor in her face might not be the best thing to happen for the three of them.

 _"Well that was not that helpful at all. Let's see if I can get something else out of him,"_ thought Tyrol as he kept his face as still as he could. He was hoping that his best plan was workable after he asked the next question. If not, then he was going to have to go straight to Plan C. "Do you have a way to contact Adama directly?"

The Chief did not have to say which of the two men that had the same last name he was talking about. It could only have been the older man. No one else would have had the authority to order this mission they had been given to carry out before things went out the airlock. Bill Adama also was the most respected person in the Fleet. Even more so than his girlfriend Laura Roslin, though she was a close second.

It was even money that the pair would be equal very soon. Even if they did not get married as the betting pools said was going to happen before they left his planet. Tyrol had placed a bet on when that very event might happen. His was the only bet, so far, that had the event happening after the Colonials had left this solar system.

Sam let out a sigh, then nodded. But he did not say anything else to Galen Tyrol. He just turned his back to the Chief, and walked back into the open door of the bedroom with slumped shoulders. It was a lot like a teenage boy having to call his father, because he had broken down or had run out of gas in the family car. It had to be done, but that did not mean it was not going to impact his ego. Sam did not close the door behind him. There was only one other person awake that could hear the former sports star going through some of the items in that normally private room.

When Sam returned to the main living area, he was carrying a dark canvas bag that the Chief had no trouble identifying just by seeing one of the narrow ends. I was a survivor bag. Designed to help a downed Viper pilot or more normally a Raptor crew to survive, evade, and call for help after being shot down by Cylons or some other catastrophic mishap. In other words, it was standard issue to the Colonial Military and that was about it.

Sam put the small bag on the breakfast bar at the end of the kitchen between the Chief and him. After tearing the inspection seal off, he had to pull out a second waterproof pouch from inside the sand colored bag. He pulled out the instruction sheet and started to read it while he fumbled with the hand sized device stored within the bag.

After less than a minute, Tyrol just turned red and stormed over to the end of bar that had been his sleeping area for most of the night before. Mumbling his displeasure about frakking wet behind the ear amateurs mixing with real military people, he did a quick grab with his right hand. A few more similarly quick maneuvers with both hands had the transmitter out of the bag, set up, powered on, and self-tested before Sam had even finished the first paragraph of the device's printed instructions. It was even odds for and against, that Sam had even understood what he had just read anyway. Most civilians had some major problems understanding anything written in military-ese.

The Head Deck Chief and the only known Small Craft Chief left in the Colonial Fleet pulled the mic to his mouth and pressed a button on the side of the hand sized device. He had no idea who would be on shift this time of day or even on any day. He did not even know if any of the old codes were still being used. He just went for it when he knew that the device was ready for operation. "Galactica this is Knuckle Dragger Actual. Over?" Tyrol released the side mounted transmit button, and waited for a reply to his request for contact.

Sam just folded the instructions manual back up, and put them in the proper place in the kit bag. All he could do was wait, along with the Chief. As he waited for the Chief to work his magic with the communication device, he mentally kicked himself. He knew he should have just passed the device over to him in the first place. He had been told it was a survival kit when Starbuck packed it into her almost empty backpack. He did not have to wait for more than a few seconds before a voice replied to Tyrol's request on the emergency transmitter.

"Chief, Galactica CIC this is an emergency channel is everything okay?" The concern came out of the speaker clear as day to both of the men's ears.

Tyrol smiled as the voice reached his ears. He had recognized the young woman's voice, but would not break communication protocol. Besides, Cally was still hurting about how he had treated her when he had been deep in the bottle for so long. "Galactica CIC, please contact Actual. You need to let him know that me and Sam, need to have private line set up with him. It is very frakking important. Pass along the last part exactly. Over?"

The tone he used for the last word was pointed, to remind her to keep with proper communication protocol. He released the transmit button, and he had a slight smile on his face. The job of the senior enlisted persons in the Colonial Military was to enforce training on the younger crewmembers. Tyrol had already fallen back into that mode, now that he was 'back on' as a member of the battlestar's crew. Then Tyrol felt his eyes get larger. Why was one of his knuckle draggers on duty in the CIC, and not working on his craft? Maybe she was cross training or something. He knew that she was smart enough to do almost any job on a battlestar that he could think of off the top of his head.

The voice that came over the speaker sounded a little upset, or maybe it was just a little peeved. The one thing that was for sure, it was not Cally talking now, but someone else. Maybe someone who had come over from the Beast, but Tyrol was sure that he did not know who he was talking to now. The tone that came through the speaker had officer written all over it. "Actual is not on shift for another five hours. What is so important that you think you need to talk to him now? Over." The open carrier wave was now the only sound coming out of the little hand held device and it quietly filled the kitchen.

Sam saw the red go from deep down the Chief's neck, racing upwards, higher and higher until it was lost in his own hair line. Sam could feel the same thing happening to him, but instead of just sitting there, Sam took the microphone from the Chief. Before the shorter man could reply to the jerk on the other end of the device, he took a breath and went old school at the person on the other end of the transmitter. It was just like how his first coach had taught him to do it, back when he had been voted to be the team captain for the first time. You used it when you needed to bring a big hammer to the game to motivate you team.

"I don't know who this is, but you have better get Bill Adama right the frak now! Or the next time I see you, I will turn you into my own private practice dummy! I will use you till I'm tired, then I'm going to use you some more! Right now I'm thinking that I will not be giving you any pads for this little round of training. Am I being frakking clear! Or do I need to go into some more detail about what your future might hold?" Luckily Sam remembered to release the transmit button after he had vented some spleen at the unknown person on the other end. As he took another breath, he realized that he was now feeling better after a little yelling.

The next voice to come over the transmitter was Cally's again, and you could tell the she was trying not to smile as she spoke. Even after getting caught by the Chief for the breach of wireless protocol, she was smiling that no one could see. "Sam, they just sent someone to get the Admiral. He will contact you as soon as he can. Over." The last few words barely covered a laugh building in the woman.

Sam felt a smile come to his face. It felt so good to vent some of the built up stress on someone, at least a little of it anyway. He pushed the button on the side of the device again, but looked at the Chief before he said anything. The Chief just gave him a slight nod, which Sam took to keep going now that he had the transmitter in his hands.

"Thank you, and we will be waiting at the Bar til he contacts us. Sam and Chief out!" Sam knew communication etiquette. Especially after getting roasted by Starbuck a few dozen times when he had frakked it up. Those had been some good times, when they had been working together. When his mind caught back up to the real world, he realized what he had said. He quickly thought maybe he ought to have used a different word, other than 'bar'. The whole CIC had to have known who was with him, and that name and Bar should not be used together in the same sentence. And definitely not this early in the morning, on an open channel.

* * *

It was a horse race to see who would contact the two men in the rental cabin first. Sam and Tyrol had absolutely no idea just what they started that morning. With the use of all of that Colonial technology, it was Adama who contacted his people first, and he won that part of the race. Even with the delay caused by the Officer of the Day. In fact there had been two delays caused by that lowly Lieutenant. One was in CIC, and the other was when Bill explained how and why he had screwed up. He did not need to yell, this was just a training event for the young officer.

Bill Adama had had a private line set up so that not even the CIC would know what was being said between the ground and his cabin. This private line had been used a lot by the commander over the last few weeks. Using it to contact anything on the ground allowed him to avoid drawing that much attention. He used it now to find out why the pair had woken him up so early.

Sam and Tyrol did not need long to convince the Admiral that they needed him dirtside to see what was going on first hand. Just hearing more details about the line drawings the two were doing was enough. He agreed to come down without letting many of his staff know why he was getting his feet dirty again so soon after coming back up to the flagship. It was going to take some doing, but he was the Admiral after all.

He did not immediately fly down to the planet's surface. That would have raised some alarms with people whom Bill did not want to get into his business just yet. Bill was not that thrilled to be woken up this early for the normally long duty day that he had gotten into the habit of. He had also been enjoying one of the few great night's sleep he had been able to get in a long time. After putting the handset back into its cradle, he looked back at his bed, and the woman still sleeping in it. He leaned over and touched the hair of the sleeping woman who also was the leader of the last known survivors from the Colonies of Kobol.

What Bill so much wanted to do was just to crawl back into that bed and into her arms again, but now he had work to do. He quietly padded around to collect his things, thinking to himself that the call of duty was finally starting to get very old. He then took a quick shower, cleaned up, and got dressed for what he was thinking was going to be a longer day than he had already planned for. As he was coming out of the small private shower, he was thinking that it was laso going to maybe be an even longer night than he had intended for his shift today. It was just too bad it was all more than likely going to be work related, or a working social meeting.

He slowly closed and dogged the hatch to his cabin making as little noise as he could, and made his way to the CIC. It was a short trip. As with all warships, the master of the vessel's sleeping quarters was close to the ship's beating heart.

It took a few minutes to get an update on the fleet after entering his command center. The team that was in charge of providing that information to him had planned to have a few more hours to get ready before he showed up for duty. However, like the well trained crew that they were, they adapted to his early arrival without any issues.

There had not been many changes from the state the fleet had been in before he had gone to bed, what seemed like only a few hours ago. He was looking at the Raptor schedules when he was interrupted by a physical note passed to him by member of his staff. It had been less than twenty minutes since he had talked to the team on the ground. He had been hoping that he could just catch a regular scheduled Raptor down, but it was going to be a few hours too long of a wait. The slip of paper that was now in his hands said that a Raptor would be ready and waiting for his use in about five minutes. It would take him slightly longer than that to make it to the only remaining flight deck on his ship. _"It was good to have a well trained staff around you,"_ thought the Admiral as he put the note in a convenient pocket of his uniform top. He made a mental note to find out who had noticed that he was going to need the use of a Raptor.

He nodded his thanks, and then turned to the rest of the CIC. "I will be at the Settlement for the next few hours. If you need something, get with OD or Colonel Tigh." He looked at the Officer of the Day. The one he had just done some verbal training on. Bill gave him a slight nod to indicate that he had confidence in the man.

Without another word, he turned and walked to the only hangar left operational on his ship at a measured pace. While he was walking he let his mind wander to the subject that had been causing him some trouble. He had been wracking his brain on how to fix his ship back up to full combat capabilities. Everything just kept going back to needing the use of a major Colonial dry-dock facility. As it would happen, they did not have one of those on hand. And he did not know were one might just be floating around in space that was both empty, and that his people could use. They were frakked is all that kept coming to his mind. His ship was not crippled in the technical sense, but she was as close as one could get and still not be labeled as such. He knew that she was almost a liability to the whole fleet in her current condition.

It was all muscle memory for the walk to the hangar pod and boarding the small craft waiting for him. He did not really come back to the real world until the Raptor's hatch reopened and fresh cold air entered the small cabin of the transport. The cold air was like a slap in the face. A Battlestar's environmental systems could maintain an evenly comfortable temperature, somewhat higher during combat operations. Never as cold as Caprica's fresh morning air, though.

* * *

While Adama was boarding the Raptor for his trip planetside, Captain Kelly was just getting out of his own hot shower in his own private cabin aboard his ship. His standing orders where that if anything strange happened to Dexter, he was to be notified as soon as possible. He also had orders that if they delayed too long in notifying him, he would know why. And he would do so, in person. It was not an empty threat, and his staff knew every word he had used was true.

This directive had led to more than a few false alarms at first, but it had also already kept a few things from getting out of hand. This was more important now, with the Colonials spending more time with his people. They could see what Dexter had done in the past, and what he still could do with his Oracle or far seeing abilities. It had caused some ugly issues when he had refused to do whatever it was that they had wanted, but they could have gotten a lot worse if they had not been caught early like they had been so far.

When they had woken him up, they told him where Dexter had spent the night. With not only one, but two of the human form cylons that had remained in hiding. That alone had been enough of a reason to wake him up, in his book. The duty officer had not seen it that way, but had noted it to be in the daily brief with attention marks. Add in the report that this morning, the two Cylons had been seen acting so strangely. That had just added sauce for the goose, and he had been quickly updated with the information. Kelly did see the note from Major Weston that Captain Kelly and the rest of the leadership needed to know about the report early this morning.

Major Weston had called Captain Kelly as soon as he had been woken up, earlier than normal. The Major would be waiting for him at the end, or the head of the wooden dock/jetty. They both would be paying a personal visit to the rental house this early morning. Kelly was still finishing getting dressed, when he was notified that Admiral Adama was on his way down off of his damaged flagship by his bridge duty officer. From what the Admiral had told him at the last meeting, the Colonial military leader was not due back down planetside for another five to seven days. Either that, or when the other Colonial battlestar came back from its mission, whichever came first.

Now he was coming back after being gone for less than ten hours. Something was up, and it could be either very good or very bad. And Kelly was not about to put money on which way it was going to break this morning. Kelly notified his fellow leaders about what was going on as best as he could. Neither of the other men were supposed to be getting up for another hour or so. It was even money that their respective staffs would wake them because of the message he had sent.

Captain Kelly walked to the head of the Dock. He could have asked for the use of one of the few cars they had or some other transportation, but he thought that might have drawn too much attention for what he needed to do. So he just walked a little faster than normal when he left his great ship tied in its spot on the jetty. He had always been a fast walker when he was off his ship, so something like this would go unnoticed by the majority of people who might see him. When he made it to the side of the commander of the Settlement's ground based military, the man had his finger to his ear, and eyes closed in either thought or concentration. Kelly made eye contact, but he would wait to find out what was going on.

Major Weston looked to the ship's captain now standing next to him when he finally finished receiving the report sent to him over his high tech micro radio and its earbud speaker. "Adama is on his way down, and on final approach, Sir. Do you think he is coming down because of something that happened in the rental house, or something else?" Major Weston was starting to worry that something bad might have happened between the Cylons and Dexter. Mike knew that Dexter thought of the Cylon called Tyrol as a friend. He thought it was like calling a brown bear a friend, and about as dangerous. Only about fifty people in the whole Settlement knew that Galen Tyrol was another human form Cylon. Dexter was not one of those that were in the know, after the interview that turned up that bit of information.

Kelly kept walking and just shrugged his shoulders in an indication of how he felt. It was a short walk to the center of the Settlement, and the location of the rental house. Kelly was about to knock on the door, when he heard the sound of the Raptor flying low overhead on its way to the landing pad outside of the wall. The sound stopped Kelly in his tracks and made him look up towards the sound going over his head. _"It would seem that the Colonial craft made a least time approach today,"_ thought Kelly and Weston as the sound faded away through the tall trees.

Kelly looked back down from tracking the sound of the Raptor, and made a sour face. "Major, we don't know what happened in there. Maybe having two people show up on their doorstep at the same time might be overkill, or even push them past the point of no return into something we cannot recover from. Do you mind having a seat at the picnic table? If something goes wrong, you're my surprise heavy backup. If the people coming in on the Raptor turn out to be not very friendly, you can stop them. And I can be the surprise reinforcements for you, if I hear any trouble brewing." Kelly's mind was working at a hundred miles per hour. He was betting on Dexter being okay. It did not make sense to him that the hidden Cylons would do something drastic, then call the Colonial commander down to help them out.

Major Weston was about to suggest that same plan, but it would be the Captain that was cooling his heels in safety at the picnic table. And it would have been him knocking on the door to the rental cottage with at least two Cylons inside. Major Weston had been around the block enough, to know that he could not herd this man. He knew that being honest was the best bet to try to win him over to his way of thinking. "I was thinking about the same thing. But the way I was looking at it, is that I'm more easily replaced. If the Cylons in the rental house decide that it is better to cause trouble, than you are Captain." Weston knew he had good points on the military and political arena. It was just a matter of whether this ship's master agreed with him or not.

Kelly smiled and checked his sidearm on his hip. He made sure his thick jacket that also doubling as his body armor was zipped up to his neck. The actions were meant to show Weston that he had a weapon and body armor that was good enough to stop any hand carried weapons that Colonials or Cylons were known to use. "My plan, my risk. If there is any." He used his head to point to the picnic table. When Major Weston moved out of the door line of sight, Kelly knocked hard twice on the wooden barrier. It was not bring the door down hard, but it should do the job today. It was loud enough to let whoever was inside know that the boss or a boss was outside the door and that he or she was waiting on them to allow entrance into the building. He was the wolf, and he was about to huff and puff at the door.

* * *

Tyrol and Sam were waiting in the kitchen, but also taking turns keeping an eye on things that were happening in the living room. The two people in the other room were back to drawing on the pads again, and it was unnerving the two men. When the men had checked on them during the last 'rest break', they noticed that they were getting low on paper in the pads they were using.

Sam pulled the last two pads of paper they had brought down from the battlestar out of the bottom of Starbuck's pack. He placed them on the table top, along with a selection of fresh pens just in case. They had no idea if the two workers would notice the new supplies or not. And it was not like they could ask them either, at least not without risking who knew what as blowback. Sam was starting to freak out again, and tried to watch the entertainment screen in an attempt to calm down. He felt the Admiral was taking too long to make his way down. He was just getting ready to ask Chief if they could try contacting the ship again. He stopped dead in his line of thought when two sharp raps on the heavy wooden door echoed throughout the cabin. To him they sounded like gun shots or maybe even the thunder claps from one of the Lords.

Sam jumped off of the tall bar stool like his genitals were on fire, and went to the door almost at a run. While he was almost running for the door, he pulled and worked the action of Starbuck sidearm, which he had attached to his hip after the earlier incident outside with the house lady. The sound of the knock was not any cleaning or cooking person, and he wanted to be prepared if it was not the Admiral. To Sam, it sounded a lot like the knock of the police stopping by because of a loud noise complaint or something along those lines. This was something that had happened to him more times than he could count in his wilder days as a young and not bad looking sports superstar. Now he was wishing it was only a noise complaint notice to be given out by the local law enforcement officer. Sam stopped before he ran face first into the wooden door. He looked through the little glass covered hole in the door, to try to see if it was the Admiral or more trouble that he feared it was.

Through the limited field of view made available by the peephole, Sam could see an older man in what looked like a military uniform of some kind. In short it was not the Colonial officers, whom he was hpping had rapped on the heavy wooden door. Sam had that sinking feeling, for no real reason, that he was looking at the Earther version of the elder Adama waiting for him on the other side of the door. He had heard a lot about the leadership of the Earthers, a lot more than most of the other Colonials had.

Sam almost opened the door right then, but something made him stop just as he was reaching for the metal latch and lock system. With side arm at the ready he looked back towards Tyrol, who had followed him down the short hallway to the door at a little slower pace than he himself had used. Sam was thinking about trying to scare or otherwise run off the person. But what if it was one of the three leaders of this group? That could be bad. Then something popped into his mind, out of the blue.

"Hey, Chief, do you know this guy?" Sam called out just loud enough to carry to the hallway's edge, that the Chief was now halfway standing behind.

Sam and Kelly heard, through the latter's artificial ear, a scrape of a shoulder rubbing against wood paneling from near the living room of cabin. Tyrol quickly walked the rest of the way down the hall towards the main door. He looked out the little glass covered peephole in the door and quickly jerked his head back like he had seen a Medusa in the flesh. His eyes were wide, as he took two quick steps back from the door like it might explode before he could clear the zone of threat. He was able to keep his voice low, just barely, and it still did not hide the fear that was dripping off every word that left his lips.

With a hoarse whisper he pointed over his shoulder. "That's Captain Kelly. He's one of the three leaders of the Earthers. He also commands their most powerful warship. Most of the Earthers think that he is the most powerful person amongst them." Tyrol started to pat his jacket without noticing, like he was looking for his little flask that had not been there in weeks. Sam saw a bit of sweat bead up on the other man's forehead, and it was followed by a second and a third bead of salt water. "Sam, I think we are in way over our heads."

Sam wanted to bolt, but knew he could not and he could not think of a place to bolt to that was safe on this planet. Maybe the Raptor landing area might work, but how would the three of them get out of the mostly locked gates between here and there? The part of Sam's brain that was kicking into gear, was the same one that had kicked into gear the day the Cylons attacked. He had never known that he had those types of skills before that day. They were what had turned his team into the most effective counter Cylon force on that side of the planet. That part also told him that that right now they were truly and totally frakked.

"Looks like we should have called Adama sooner." He took a breath, and gave a quick prayer to the Lords. He could count the number of times that he had prayed before the Fall on one hand. Afterwards he could not count how many times he had had to ask them for help, but he knew it was a lot. With that done, he opened the door wide with a great sweeping movement of his left arm pulling the metal handle. He had forgotten about the side arm in his right hand. That was a mistake.

Kelly could hear most of what was being said behind the heavy wooden door. He had had a high quality ear implant installed his ears almost a decade ago. Just because he could hear what was being said though, did not mean that he understood what was being said. He was about to knock on the heavy door again, when all of the sudden, the door flew open. Just as his fist was coming up to chest level on its way to striking the door again.

Kelly was now standing eye to eye with the newly discovered model of human form Cylon at a whole three paces distance. Oh and it was armed with the dual barrel pistol favored by the Colonial Military in its hand. This was when Kelly remembered that he did not have any body armor that could protect his face, and that this Cylon was a lot stronger than he was. It was a stunning moment for everyone involved at that very moment. Luckily both individuals froze as soon as the door was fully open to the cold morning air. If anyone of them had made a sudden movement, it might have turned out very bad for everyone.

Kelly's eye was locked on the weapon in the hidden Cylon's hand, and he could clearly see that the safety was not engaged on either barrel of the weapon. _"Well maybe this was not such a good idea after all,"_ thought Kelly. He did the only thing that came to his mind. He put his hands up a little, opened his palms, and started talking. He was able to keep his face very still, out of pure muscle memory, after the last three years as leader of these people. It had been a skill that he had been forced to use way to often in his opinion. "Morning, did I come at a bad time?"

* * *

Tyrol saw the Earther's hands go up, and then he noticed the sidearm that was still fully exposed in Sam's hand. From his location he could even see that the weapon was not on safe, and he already knew that it was fully loaded. Tyrol could feel his eyebrows start to move upwards of their own accord at the images playing out before his eyes. _"This could go very bad,"_ thought the Cylon that did not know he was a Cylon. As that thought went through his head, he did not know what his physical body was doing. He just moved smoothly, while one part of his brain took over from the one that normally controlled his body.

Tyrol walked quickly but quietly, sliding between Sam and the too close cottage wall. Then he reached down and touched the other man's arm near the elbow with what his mind judged to be just the right amount of pressure. This had the effect of making Sam look down at that arm, and notice the primed and ready to fire weapon that his fingers were still wrapped around. The blood rushed all the way to Sam's ears, and his mouth went into a large 'O' as he realized how it might look to the power player in sneezing range of him. And it matched the wide eyed look his eyes were giving the Earther Captain.

Sam jerked his head up and then to left and right. He knew that he had frakked up majorly. In a flash he thought what would Bill Adama have done if an Earther had opened a ship's hatch with a weapon like he had just done. With a shock he knew how the elder Adama would have reacted. Sam turned so red, that he could feel the heat coming off of his face. He could even feel it to start to come off the top of his head. It was like when he had been caught making out with his first girlfriend by her father instead of doing homework. He could not bring himself to say anything, yet. But he did slowly lower the weapon, and put it back into its holster on his hip. He had forgotten to put the weapon back on safe, but at least the weapon was no longer exposed. No longer threatening. Luckily it now matched the way that the Earther's weapon was carried.

Tyrol saw the movement of both the weapon and the muscles of Sam's face. Tyrol looked back to at least make eye contact with Captain Kelly. In the best English as he could, and as clearly as he could, he spoke to try to defuse the situation that had raised its ugly head seemingly out of nowhere.

"Sorry Sir, we've had a bad night, and my friends had a very bad first night in the Settlement. Would you mind coming back some time later? My comrades are having a harder than expected time fitting in with the different people that live in the village." Tyrol had no idea where the words were coming from, but not one of those words was exactly a lie. That in itself made it as amazing an attempt at wordsmithing as he had ever done in his life.

Kelly gave a sly smile, now that the pistol had been put away. Holstered at least, even if he suspected it was not on safe. He could see the man/Cylon that had been holding it turn visible shades of red in embarrassment. Now that things had a little less of a chance to turn bloody, he asked an open ended question. "Speaking of a bad night, one of my friends did not come home last night. The last time anyone seen him was late last night, and he had told some people that he was coming over here." Kelly raised one eye brow, and gave a smile at the two Colonials.

Kelly used his smile to defuse any sting that might have been in his words, and his arm to wave around indicating this rental cottage. "You wouldn't know anything about that. Mr. Tyrol?" Kelly did not give any names, but he was counting on them knowing exactly who he was talking about. It was something for the pair to think about. That the man was a friend of Captain Kelly's, and that he knew who he had last been seen with. Sometimes a modern ship's Captain had to be part detective, as well as a ship master.

Tyrol was giving him the old goat eating AstroTurf look, and so Kelly decided that he needed to keep talking after about fifteen seconds of silence. "I can see that you have no idea who I'm talking about." The sly smile was gone from Kelly's face, and it was now deadly serious. "Sorry. I believed everyone in the Settlement knew that already. That Dexter is one of my closest friends from back home, as well as having been one of my heavy weapons turret crews. I take it personally when something happens to him, both good and bad. If you know what I mean Mr. Tyrol?"

The threat was not said, and Kelly did not give anything that a lawyer could call a threat in a court of law. But the two Colonials were picking up the same vibe, which the Old Man gave when having dealings about Starbuck. They both had heard the stories and been in at least one of those stories. They had seen it firsthand, more than once.

Sam had no idea what was being said between the two men, but one word that he did pick up was the word Dexter out of all of the strange words flying around the doorway. Then Tyrol turned gray, and that was never a good sign for Sam. He reached over with his now empty gun hand, and pulled on the man's arm with a sharp downward tug of his coat sleeve. It worked to get Tyrol's attention, and hopefully buy some more time. He just wanted to delay things long enough, until the Admiral finally got there to bail them out of this nightmare. He had thought that he had heard a Raptor fly over not long ago, but the thick walls and roof had deadened the sound enough that he was not sure.

Tyrol did not even turn to look at Sam after the arm tug. He knew what the other Colonial wanted to know, and he repeated what Kelly had said in Caprican. Also wanting to delay things, he did the translation very slowly. He did not know if Sam wanted to delay things, but it seem like the smart move to make for one Galen Tyrol.

"Frak!" was the only thing that came out of Sam's mouth, as Tyrol told him what had been said between the Earther and Tyrol word for word. Much to his surprise, this got a bit of a soft laugh from the Earther Captain. Sam made a mental note about this Earther leader understanding the word he had uttered in Caprican. It reinforced the notion that these Earthers were picking up a lot more of his language than he was of theirs.

Captain Kelly had shifted a little when he looked towards Sam. It was a normal human response to look at whoever had said something. The movement lessened somewhat the amount to which he was blocking the open doorway. Through this larger gap, Tyrol saw what he hoped was his salvation closing in on the door to the cottage. Adama was almost to them, coming across the tree covered area, at not such a slow walk. Tyrol hit Sam in the ribs with an elbow softly, and used his chin to point to the approaching Colonial officer. He might have wanted to do that some way that was less obvious, but that was above his skill set as a deck chief. Not after the night he had just had.

Tyrol still felt that he wanted to buy some time to let his old commander finish closing the distance to the cabin. He did not want just to let them both into the rented cabin. He had gotten the feeling that this was what this Captain wanted, but he wanted to give his commander some time alone with the two people inside drawing away. Deep down he thought that would have been the best for everybody. "Sir, we've contacted the Admiral. He is almost here. Can you wait till we are done talking with our commander in private? We are not sure about having to deal with things at this high of a pay grade." He was talking to the Earther, but he was looking at what seemed like the slowly closing Colonial Admiral.

Kelly turned and looked in the direction that the human form Cylon had pointed to the other one, and saw the well-known Colonial officer closing rapidity on them. Kelly kept his face still, and tuned around to look back at the two male human form Cylons. "Hmmm, maybe we all should all hear what you three have to say, young man."

The look he gave to the two Cylons in hiding had melted more than one man into the deck plates, and amazingly, it worked on these two as well. Even though only one could understand the words he used, the tone and look seemed to have a universal effect. Tyrol also caught the number three, and knew that the Earther knew that Starbuck was still inside of the cabin. Tyrol visibly deflated at this knowledge.

Sam and the Chief just nodded, and waited for the Admiral, though they were still blocking the door, and access to the cottage it should have given. That is until the other officer could help them out from this very sticky situation. It was an impasse or Mexican Standoff as the Earther TV shows from the 20th century would have called it. This current batch of Earthers now called it a Pecos standoff, to better fit with what they knew of their new world.

Kelly did not want to push the taller, thinner, and fitter one of the two males. He looked like he was on the ragged edge of doing something... drastic. So he just waited for the officer and did not say another word for a while. Major Weston seeing the senior Colonial officer, and hearing as well as mostly understanding of what was being said could act to support his boss. He got in a better position, but still stayed out of line of sight from the door.

When the Admiral was closer, Weston stepped out and away from the bulk of the blocking building. He wanted it so that he could now be seen by the Cylons at the door, and that they knew someone was nearby and closing to support Captain Kelly if he needed it. He timed it within seconds of the Colonial officer reaching the door. It was very odd to have five people standing in an open door way, and not talking. It was starting to draw some looks from passersby. Even the odd couple playing a game across the way, had stopped what they were doing. As the number of eyes grew, the number of hands close to weapons also grew in number.

Weston pulled out one of the thin computers that they had loaded the translation software onto and powered it up for operation. A computer like this one almost never left the Major's side these days, even with his growing knowledge of Caprican and more of the Colonials picking up and using English over the last few months. He was hoping that this new one was a powerful enough system to be of use, but it had not been field tested yet. It could not make new word connections between the two languages, but it should be a good ninety percent solution to fill their current needs. If it worked, it was going to almost double the number of translation computers in use across both groups of humans. There was no test like being tossed into the deep end, after all.

Captain Kelly held out his hand to the Colonial Officer, but he did not smile or frown. He only addressed Adama with a tight lipped look, his tone as neutral as he could make it. "Admiral, it's good to see you again. Looks like we're both checking up on our people too early in the morning for them. I hope everything is going well, and you did not have any surprises waiting on you after our meeting last night?" This was Kelly's way of reminding the Colonial that he did remember that he was not due back planetside for some time.

Adama had not been surprised in the least at seeing one of the Settlement's leadership already there at the cabin. They might seem a little backward sometimes, but they could never be called mentally slow about looking after their people or anyone they had taken under their care. Bill took the other man's hand, and spoke slowly as was normal for high level Colonial/Earther greetings. He only planned on giving a noncommittal one in case things turned out badly. He had been working out what to say, and how to communicate in the event that something like this meeting did happen. He had been more than a little worried that it was not going to be easy, at least not at first.

However, as he looked over he saw another military man with a computer in his hands. That made things a little easier, and with a little computer to translate everything being said, Bill went straight to business after greetings were exchanged. "Looks like we both might have a long day today, Captain. Why don't we all go inside? Then we can find out what happened to our people last night." Bill had walked through a lot of people looking towards this cabin, and unlike Captain Kelly he had a better idea of what was going on. One thing that Bill knew was that he did not want to have too many strangers finding out about it.

The thin computer did its job, and translated the statement for the other two men to understand. In the time it took to do this task, Adama started looking around and noticed even more of the eyes that had turned their way and how close most of those hands were to weapons. Weapons that would have turned heavy marine body armor into so much confetti. Body armor that he was not wearing, nor any of his people for that matter.

Kelly listened to the device, then stepped off to one side and swept his arm to wave the Colonial military officer into the cabin ahead of him. He thought it might make things easier if the Colonial commander entered the home first. The procession going into the living room was led by the elder Adama, followed closely by Captain Kelly, Major Weston, Tyrol and Sam. Sam was the last person in line, because he had made sure that the door was locked and that no one else was coming into this explosive situation.

The group of men made a ring around the wood stump based coffee table and the leather couch that were the center pieces of the room. They all quietly stood and watched the two glassy eyed people draw on the pads of paper. As it turned out, Bill and Kelly got lucky with their timing. Within about ten minutes of their entering the living room, the two people set their pads and pens down and went to sleep again. Again one of the pair stretching out on the couch, while the other one stretched out on the wooden floor. Sam and Tyrol noticed that the way Dexter and Starbuck had moved, had a visible effect on the pair of officers. The two senior leaders did not say anything though, and only passed a knowing look between them.

Tyrol and Sam both checked their wrist watches almost at the same second, and looked at each other in amazement. It was Sam that spoke first of the pair. "That's different."

The tone told everyone that he was getting concerned for his wife. He looked at the two new Earthers in the room first, and then at Adama. "When they first met last night, it started. And I mean it started within seconds of those two meeting. I don't think they even said hello before it all went to frak. They've been drawing for two hours, sleeping for one hour, then repeating the cycle, down to almost the second. Unless I've forgotten how to tell time, they had over half an hour left before there were to go into their next sleep cycle." He started to scratch his chin, working the problem in his head. Nothing was making sense, and it was quickly driving him around the bend.

Tyrol was nodding his head in agreement, and scratching his greasy hair vigorously. He had gotten used to having a shower every day lately, and he was overdue for one. "That's what I thought too. Gods! I hate this frakking oracle stuff! I thought they were always full of crap, back in the day." Now it was Tyrol's turn to sound as if he was at the end of his rope.

Major Weston squinted his eyes a little, and looked at Kelly with a questioning look. He did not mean to say anything, it just slipped out. He should have turned off the computer, but he didn't so the whole room heard it. "Sir, that's a lot like what happened when Dexter and the Colonial President met that first time."

As soon as the words come out in Caprican, Weston looked down at the forgotten computer in his hands like it was a bomb or a snake. He looked back up to Kelly with a sheepish look on his face. He knew that he had just made a bad move. Or did he? When he looked into the eyes of Captain Kelly, they were not giving him that much of a warning look at what he had said.

The two senior men were not too happy, but for different reasons with the Major's statement and translation of his words. Adama did not like it that now, at least two more people knew about what happened with Roslin in that first meeting with the Earthers. Kelly was not happy that now two human form Cylons in hiding might know something about the closely held details of the meeting with President and Dexter. What would the Cylons do, if they knew that a certain pair of people might have something of a strategic value to both groups of humans? Maybe more of a strategic value than they normally had, more than the Cylons had known about before.

Kelly looked at the other military man. "He's right Admiral." He went into full Captain mode now and his body language subtlety changed. "Admiral Adama. I think we might want to limit the number of people who might know about this subject. I don't want to risk too much of this getting out to the rest of our people. It could get out of hand very quickly if they or we do not have all of the facts at our finger tips. You know that we will be asked some very pointed questions, if that happens." He pointed to the two sleeping people to reinforce what he was referring to.

Adama was thinking the same thing, but was still working out how to ask that same question to Captain Kelly. "Yes, I agree Captain Kelly. How do we do that?" Bill Adama was out of his depth, and he hoped that the other man had some idea on how to do just what he had suggested.

It they had been aboard one of this warships or any ship in what was left of the Colonial space assets, he would just have had the pair of Colonials confined to a cabin, if not the nearest brig for a few hours. But he would have come up with something to slow the pace of the leaking that he knew was about to reach the level of a full blown flood in the very near future.

Kelly reached out with a steady hand, and took the thin computer from Weston's hands. He used a softer almost normal voice to address the military commander. "Major, why don't you take these two gentlemen out, and go get something hot to eat for all of you. I will call you when the Admiral and I are done here."

The look Captain Kelly gave the Major was the same look the Admiral was giving to his two people. The little computer translated those words and both Tyrol and Sam look like they had been slapped in the face. All three of the males knew that they were not to return until they were summoned back. That the two senior leaders were not to be interrupted, at least not unless it was for literally earth shattering reasons.

Their wishes made clear, Adama and Kelly turned away from the other three men who were clearly not happy with how things were going for very different reasons. Sam did not want to leave his wife, whom he felt would be in distress with anyone other than himself. That included the Old Man, no matter how much he respected the Admiral. Tyrol also did not want to leave because he felt that he might be blamed for what had happened to the two people, and he would not be there to defend himself. Major Weston was not happy, because he was the ground force commander of all of the Settlement's forces. So he did not like it when he was kept in the dark about things. Any of the things that could get him a terminal case of the deads, he wanted to have a hand in planning.

In the end all three men left the building as commanded, though not one had a smile on their face. One that the thought of a hot meal should have brought to their faces. Orders were orders, and these two commanders were not known to take it very well any time those orders were ignored or questioned for no good reason. Adama would have said that they looked like three wiped Daggits with their tails between their legs as they left the cottage. If things were not so serous, the two commanders might have shared a good laugh at how those three faces looked as they left the building. Sam especially, had the hound dog face as he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. He shot one last look at the Admiral hoping that he might get a reprieve from the exile they had been sent to. It did not happen, and Bill just gave him a sweeping motion with one hand at the look.

Now that they were alone, both commanders let down their guards a little. It was not too much, but it was some. It was also an unconscious show of trust between the two men in this stressful situation. Kelly was the first to speak after they heard the front door close, and lock behind the small group of exiles. "So Admiral let's see what our people have been doing all night." Kelly received a nod of agreement from Bill and a slight smile.

By an unwritten and unspoken agreement, each picked up the pad of paper that was nearest to his subordinate. Kelly picked up the pad near Dexter, and Adama walked over and picked up the one that was nearest to the loudly snoring Starbuck. Bill had to keep from smiling as he looked at the sleeping woman. He had known she had a tendency to snore like a Viper on turbos in an atmosphere. It would seem that they had understated the comparison. She could have drowned out an out of tune battlestar's jump engine.

Each pad was within one or two pages of being full of line drawings on each off white page, front and back. Each person had made almost sixty full pages of those line drawings. It was an impressive amount of work for just for one night. Kelly had no idea what he was looking at as he flipped through the pad of paper. He was hoping to get some clue to what was going on with his old crewmember. With the Colonial military commander here, his gut told him that whatever had happened last night, it was a major event.

Out of the corner of his left eye he saw the Colonial Admiral moving to the kitchen with his legal pad in hand, so Kelly followed only a step or three behind him. They let the two people sleep while they tried to work on this problem that they had been given by the pair of sleepers. The only thing that they were sure of right now, was that there were some strange things going on to their people. It would seem that this group of humans were being given help by powers unknown and more disturbing, for reasons unknown.

Adama put the pad of legal length paper down on the thick hard wood bar top, and reached into an inside pocket of his uniform jacket for something. He had made sure to grab it when Sam said something about the pair drawing on pads of paper. The jacket was a little too form fitting, and cut shorter than most Earth based uniforms. So Kelly did not think he was pulling out a weapon of any kind, but the arm and hand movements caught his eyes. What the Colonial pulled out of that hidden pocket, were two folded pieces of paper. Bill made sure that he first carefully unfolded, than used the bar top edge to get most of the fold lines out of pages. He did not even look up over his glasses when Kelly put his pad of paper next to his on the bar top. Bill was thinking that it was going to take both of them to put the little puzzle together.

After watching Adama for a few long seconds, and seeing him go back and forth between his two pages, and the pad of paper. Kelly wanted to know what might be going on. He put the computer table between them. "So Adama, it looks like you think you're on to something." Kelly gave the shrug of what was called the Intel salute by some of his people. "Me, I have no idea off the top of my head about any of this." He started tapping the top page of the pad of long paper.

 _"Frak this guy is good,"_ thought the Admiral. _"He's not even visibly fazed by the strangeness of all of this. Even after being caught more flat footed, like I suspect he had been."_ Bill was still hunched down toward the bar, but was looking at the Earther. "My people gave me a heads up about the drawing, before I came down. I picked up my copy of what Dexter and Roslin had done before just in case they might be useful."

Adama flipped through the top couple of long yellow pages, "If you look here and here." He pointed to the loose page he was on, one of the first pages in the thick pad of paper. "Those are some of the central structural support members on my flagship. I think they might even be the ones on my starboard side used to connect the thrust frame to the hangar pod."

Now that this information was pointed out, Kelly could start to make some sense to what he was seeing on the pad that Dexter had worked on. It was like someone had pulled the blind fold off of him. "Okay now I see it. Do you think these could be some kind of building diagrams, to help facilitate the modifications to your ship? What you said last night would take years and a professional staff to do? It would seem that someone is still pushing us along down the river when we hit strategic level roadblocks. I just hope that we are not being pushed off a cliff or something along those lines." The last part had been very low, but was still picked up and translated by the little computer on the bar top. Kelly knew from personnel experience, that powerful beings did not just do things to help mortals, not without some kind of major benefit to them.

Adama looked up, and took his reading glasses off and sighed as he rubbed the temple on one side of his face. "Could be. I'd have to study them more closely to be sure. Then I'd want to compare them to the Battle Damage Control database. But that is what I'm thinking they really frakking are. I'm not even going to touch on who might be helping us. From what I understand from my briefings, your people are used to dealing with things... Let just call them, more on the strange side of things than 99.99 percent of my people."

Kelly was looking at the pages on his pad again, but his mind was on something else. He was trying to figure out how to turn the discussion in a new direction. One he was not sure the Admiral might like that much. But it was one that they needed to address now that another Cylon that was still in hiding was found. "Admiral you're the expert in spaceship construction among what is left of your people. What if the Cylons got their hands on this data, could they use it against us and by us I mean your warship?"

Adama was looking down, and again comparing some of the pages of line drawings. He made a face that was not happy one before half turning to look at the other leader with a very level gaze. It was one that he would give to someone that was his equal or someone who he highly respected. Again Bill was glad he had that little computer for them to work things out.

"If the Cylons had these drawings, we would be so frakked, it wouldn't be funny. These diagrams look to show armor thickness, weapons points, and even the main support lines I think. All of the things that make a ship a ship, and not a death box moving around in space. I wish we had this amount of detail on their current generation of Basestars. I could pinpoint where the best places were to target. I would even know how much firepower it would take, all the way down to the pound of energy output needed to do a given job. After we were able to recover our first mostly intact Heavy Raider, and study it, our kill ratio went up forty-six percent against that class of craft. When one of our pilots recovered a Raider, our kill rate went up about thirty-five percent, but out counter Raider gun kills over doubled."

Kelly was looking at the other man. "That's what I thought. It's much same way with surface ships in my experience. I remember when we recovered our first Kittani War Crab. made getting a more intact second specimen a lot easier. After that, we could pop them, no problem. If things would have worked out differently, getting a look at that one Kittani War Shark. Man that would have been really something to write home about." Kelly was looking at the other end of the kitchen, but he really was not seeing it. He was thinking of a bright blue sky, with a huge moon coming up as the sun set on those warm salt water waves.

He gave himself a shake after too many seconds of daydreaming. Kelly leaned back on the bar stool, almost to the point that it would fall over backwards if his sense of balance was not as good as it should be. He crossed his arms and gave the other naval officer a look and tried not to bite his lower lip as he worked on the right words to say. "How many different human form Cylons did you say there were?" Now Kelly had to wait to see how this was going to work out.

Adama's head shot up, and then over to the computer screen to make sure he had heard the words right. He squinted at the other ship's commander. He felt that this was a trap of some kind, it just had to be. This Earther did not seem like a man who needed to be reminded about something like that. So he must be missing something. The question was, was it as important as it might now seem to be at least to this man?

Bill took the time to read the words twice before he addresses them. "Twelve? What are you driving at Captain Kelly?" He pitched his tone just so, and gave the man a questioning look that was also not hostile. That was a hard look to pull off, but one Bill Adama had had years to work on. He hoped the other man would catch them. Even though they spoke differently, and came from completely different cultures as well, as well as 'only' coming from two different planets. Bill felt like it was his turn to feel completely out of his depth, and he so did not enjoy the experience.

The two men were looking eye to eye now, and only a few feet apart. Kelly was not intimidated at all by being this close to someone like Bill Adama. "Twelve and yet we only have images of only eight of the different Cylon models in human form. The Cylons that we have talked to, all same mostly say the same thing and that there are a dozen of them. But they can only remember the eight faces that both of our people have seen on this planet. Now some of them talk about a group, that they called the Final Five. They at first only would talk about that among themselves, when they thought we could not hear or understand them. Do you know what they may look like?"

Adama sat back in his chair, and his eyes were even narrower now, as he read as well as listened very closely to what Kelly was saying. _"What was he diving at? He wants to say something, but he is trying to figure out the best way to cover it. Strange,"_ thought Adama to himself before addressing the issue.

"We have been told something similar and more than once. But to tell you the truth, we have not spent much time or effort into looking deeper into that issue. What do you know, it seems like you have had some people taking the time to dig into this? I think for such a small group, you all spend a lot of time pounding about the oddest things." The tone on the last part of the statement was sharper than he wanted it to come out. But it was out in the open now, and there was nothing Bill could do about it. He had only said what he and Roslin had been talking about just last night.

 _"Well let's get this over with",_ thought Kelly with a thin lipped look on his face. "Admiral my people have been dealing with cybernetics for a long time. Maybe we've known about it even longer than you and your people have been dealing with them." Kelly gave a slight smile to take the sting out of his words. "Yes, we know about the stuff your people were working on. Before the cylons rebelled against you, and when they went AI Skynet on your people."

When the Colonial only looked at Kelly and remained quiet, he kept talking. "We did some test runs on some of our more specialized equipment, back when we first found out about the human form Cylons. We had been calling them clones, until we found out what your people called them." Kelly stopped talking and tried to look relaxed, but he was far from relaxed.

"We have a way of finding Cylons. Even if they are disguise by anything like major surgery. And by that, I mean even if they have been surgically altered in any way. We can find them, without them even knowing that they have been found out by us. The devices are all part of our advanced medical kit for our combat medics." Kelly could see that this was going to need some explanation to the Colonial commander after those words had left his mouth. With a slight shrug he continued, explaining briefly it worked and why something like it was ever devised in the first place.

"On the battlefield were we come from, sometimes you run across someone who is hurt. And they are hurt too badly to tell you their basic medical information. You need to a way to save their lives. So you had to be able to find it, to help heal them. It turns out these devices work just as well on the Cylons that we have run against also. I think you remember my ships doctor explaining something along those lines when you're President had her issue on our first meeting?" Kelly was watching the other man as closely as he could with every word he spoke.

Adama was gobsmacked, and his jaw as hanging open in the warm dry air of the cottage. Had he just been told that this group of humans had a Cylon detector of some kind? More to the point they claimed to have one, and they claimed that it worked in the real world. On top of that, they might have found more of the human form Cylons. Ones that not one of his people had even thought to look for, yet. The last part was just conjecture on his part, and then he decided to be blunt and get more information from the Earther.

"You have found the rest of the human models? These Final Five, you just referred to?" He did not want to ask more about this Cylon detector, not just yet. He had been sold one of those before, but this time it was not coming from that little frakker Baltar. And he did not have to turn over a nuclear weapon to have one made. He was hoping that he was not going to have to lose another major weapon to finally get a workable and real Cylon detector. At least these people would not be likely to turn a nuke over to a Cylon. He would not have to worry about losing another of the ships in his little rag tag fleet.

Kelly knew he had to tread carefully for the next little bit, or he was going to cause more problems than he was trying to fix at the moment. At least on the short term, but long term? Who knew? Maybe their guardian would step in again. "Maybe. The reason I bought it up, is because I don't want the Cylons finding out about this. And they might be able to find any weakness on your main warship. They might even be able to do this without getting back to their main fleet. We agree that if the Cylons are able to find this data, and exploit it, the first time we run into them again, it might turn out to be the last fight for your people and mine along with them."

Adama was still having hard time, wrapping his head round the part about being able to find any hiding Cylons that might be left and still hiding among what was left of humanity. If he accepted that as a fact, then his mind quickly ran down the ways that they could wipe the rest of them out of the universe. It was a long list of ways, and some were more likely than others. All of the lines on that list ended up with all of the humans dead. "Maybe? Captain Kelly either you have found them, or you have not. Which one is it? I don't like playing games. Just tell me what you're trying to say. Do not treat me like a tylium refinery in a bad mood."

Kelly made a face, and his lips went into a tight line. He was about to tell the first bald faced lie to this man. He was not happy about that, even if it was only a little one for the good of both groups of survivors. "We wanted to do more testing, before we blast about what we might or might not be able to do to the press and the like. I think the last thing we need is a witch hunt among our peoples to take hold and burn everyone out of house and home." For the next fifteen minutes, Kelly had to explain what a witch hunt was. And that he had seen it happen before on his home planet.

Adama had his mental feet under him again, after using the time to find out what the other man had meant by a term that he had used. "Okay Captain. I don't think you're the type to bring something up, without a plan or deeper reason for it. How about you just tell me in plain language what you want, and seem to have already put some planning into doing. That we can talk about it like commanders, and not like overpaid politicos or someone who has spent too much time in an ivory tower."

Kelly hoped that he was not going to torpedo the still young relationship between his people and the Colonials. He sat up a little straighter, and let his arms fall to the bar. It was as relaxing a pose as he could make, without taking that much of the emphasis away from the dangers they were in. "What has been brought up as a final test of the devices, is that you bring down twenty random people, or so to be tested. We will have twenty of our own people, which will join that control group of Colonials. We will have both of our medical personnel run the test, on all of the people in the total control group. I would like to keep it small, so maybe only two medical personnel to come from each of our different groups to run the tests. The raw data will be made available for release to your people only by your say so. The Triumvirate will control the data release to my people. We will tell you before it is released to the general public, and we hope you would do the same."

Kelly took a breath because the next part was going to be the ugly part. "I would like to have these four people specifically in your group for the testing that is going to happen." He had picked up the thin computer, and did some work on the screen that Adama could not see from the way that Kelly was holding the device. Kelly and a lot of other people, had been putting a lot of brain power and days plotting out how to work this idea. Now after finding the new hidden Cylon, the list went from three to four. No one had wanted to think about what were the odds that all five of the missing models would be in this little sample from the Colonies of Kobal.

When the screen was turn back towards the Admiral. Bill felt his blood pressure heading towards the roof, strapped to an out of control Viper with its turbos stuck on full. The screen had four very clear and detailed images, all in one display. The top left one was an image of Anders walking through the Settlement's gate, next an image of Tyrol eating at a table outside on a sunny day. On the bottom row was an image of Tory Foster and the last image was none other than Saul Tigh.

Bill had no idea who, how, or when these images were taken. He had not noticed anyone taking those images, and as far as he knew. Saul had only been dirt side one time. Bill made a note to be on a better lookout, about what might be going on around him. It would seem that these Earthers were keeping some closer eyes on the Colonials. A lot closer than what the Colonials were doing to the Earthers visiting their ships. One part of Bill's mind was a little disturbed about this, and he felt a little violated at being stealthily watched so closely. Another part of his brain reminded him of the security system that was being refitted on the larger warship and civilian ships just before the war had started again.

Adama was fighting not to yell, so his voice came across just strained, as a few select words left his lips. "Captain Kelly, I don't know if this is some kind of joke. If it is, it's in extremely bad form. I take it that you think these four might be some of the missing human form Cylons that you were referring to earlier?" He could only put a few words together in each breath as he spoke, he was frakking pissed! It was just lucky that he had been dealing with the Quorum for so long, that he had picked up more than just some political skills in those dealings.

Kelly could tell that the other man was about to explode in anger. His voice was getting softer and softer as he had spoken. All the time as he said those short sentences. The information they had put together about this Colonial said this was not a good sign. Kelly had to keep his own voice level and his eyes locked with the other man's. "Admiral, this is not a joke. I don't expect you to believe me. You have only known me for a little while. And the pair of us have only been working together for a short amount of time, at least by how you measure time, around the bigger picture of things."

Kelly could see that the anger was not visibly escalating, for now. "That is why we want to do this complex test, with an almost random mix of personnel put together in this test group. And running the test with half of the testers as your people, and allowing them to have access to all of the raw data. As well as having a copy of all of the tests, no matter who is in the control group. Trust me. I hope like frak we are wrong! But what if we were right? And we did not say something to you about it? Exactly how much damage could they do to us, all of us again? Our people cannot afford to take many chances, not from now on. So ask yourself Admiral? Do you want to chance it that, we are right?"

Kelly took a deep breath through his nose, and he felt his lips turn down a little more than he would have preferred. But he did not want to overschool his features. "A little testing now, could prevent a major disaster later. If were wrong, then we're wrong, and we would be keeping the testing as low-keyed enough that it should not be a major issue. But we need to run the tests, and spend the effort now to try to make sure that we do not have any Cylons still spying on us. Or waiting to do something to us, that we both will regret later." Kelly was referring to all of the sabotage that the other human forms had done early in the surprise attack.

Adama had it back under full control. He had been thing again about the frakked up Cylon tester Baltar had tried to build. That might have colored his response to Kelly all without the rest of his brain knowing it. They were not claiming to be right. They only said that something suspicious had come up, and they wanted to do some control testing just to make sure before it was too late. These Earthers were bending over backwards. Only to make sure that everything was on the up and up, when it came to dealing with his Colonials. There was not much more that you could ask for. Even under Colonial law, the owners of a planet could demand any medical testing they wanted done on any visitors to that planet. The idea was that if you did not want to do the testing, then you did not go to that planet. This had stopped more than one major outbreak of disease in their history.

Adama felt his head moving up and down a little, agreeing to what had been said. "We could say they need to come down for a party. I can have Roslin use this as some kind of reward, and select the people to come to the 'VIP party'. I will have to let our ships Doctor know what is going on with this testing. I will have to talk him, and anyone he wants to pick as his second person. That will to be our two medical people to help with the testing. I will have him contact your medical testing team to work out any issues. I will also be one of the ones to be tested in the group." The last part was a command, and left no doubt that it was a not in any way a suggestion. If these people wanted to do some mass medical testing, he was going to go through it right along with the rest of any of his people. No one in the future would ever be able to say with any proof, that he had his people do something that he was not prepared to do himself.

Kelly just smiled an evil grin, and his tone was light, as some light twinkled in his eyes. "We checked you out already Admiral, but if you want to have another test done. That's fine with me. If we do prove that they are Cylons, and they are still hiding with in your group. What do we do with them?" Kelly had an idea of what the response was going to be, but he had to ask any way.

When he only got a puzzled looked from the Colonial, Kelly put his idea on the table. "We were thanking that they are your people, but since they are off of your ships when we do the testing. They should fall under our laws and jurisdiction, by your legal precedent. The problem is that three of them are in very high profile position among your people, so we need to have a GTHP." Kelly saw that Adama was having a problem with the term or word that he had just used. With a sly smile on his face, and in a move to more to defuse some more of the tensions building up between them he clarified the term that he thought might have caused the issue.

"That is what we call a _Go To Hell Plan_ ". It is what you do, when it's all going to Hades in a hand basket as you call it. When all of your other plans have failed, it's your last throw of the dice to pull a win out of the teeth of the monster."

Adama looked at the images again, and took another deep calming breath. He tried to come up with something to say. He could feel that the anger was building again, and this time it was not directed at Kelly, but at one image that was standing out to him on the little electronic device. "Normally I would say that something like this would fall under Laura's area. Personally I would say blow them out of the nearest airlock. But how about we do the same thing, that you did to those others human cylons? I understand it was very inventive, and scared the frak out of not only Cylons. A lot of my people are thinking that you might do the same thing to them."

Kelly laid both of his salt weathered hands flat on the hard wood bar top. Kelly was hoping that it was finally time to do some horse trading. This was what he was hoping for, since that first big meeting with the Colonial leadership. "We put those Cylons to death, for major crimes under our laws. If you have proof that any other Cylons have done major crimes to your people, then maybe we can look into something like that as the punishment, but only if it fits the crimes they have been proven to have committed. If not, and we take them, then we will treat them like any of the other Cylon POW's that we have control over. And we will treat them just like any other prisoner of war we have dwelt with. If that is what they are, or we will be deciding what to do by our people and the laws we live under." This was Kelly's opening offer, and he had few areas that he could trade on. But this was where he had been asked to start the negotiations.

Adama's head cracked like a whip as he craned his neck to look at the other man, and away from the thin computer with the images still on display. "What are you frakking talking about?" He could feel the heat rising again and the old school Colonial Military man fought to keep himself under some kind of control. Part of his mind was trying to believe that his longtime friend and second in command to his ship, was suspected to be a human form Cylon. It was starting to slow down his mental capacity, as his mind was being slowly over loaded with emotions.

 _"Crap. He's not thinking this all the way through,"_ thought Kelly. "Think about it Admiral. Your people and our people, both have run into Cylons that wanted to switch sides away from the models of Cylons that are leading this war against humans. If, and I say again IF. Colonial Tigh is a human form Cylon, then why didn't he turn us in to the Number Ones at the beginning of our contact with him. Or say let slip about our attack plans to the Number One called John, a few days before he left in his flagship? He had his hands in over ninety percent of all of the battle and support plans, up to the day you launched your returning attack." Kelly was trying to put some logic on the table as a possible reason, or action to the observed facts of Colonel Tigh's behavior.

Kelly looked around, and was wishing that he could get some water for his suddenly dry throat. Instead he reached down and pulled a canteen of fruit juice, that luckily was still attached to his uniform top since this morning. After wetting his throat, he passed the still almost full canteen to Adama. Bill refused the container with a slight head shake. He could smell the juice, but he did not feeling like over stressing his bladder, if he did not need to.

Kelly did a slight shrug, put the canteen away, and stated talking again. "Now this Foster is your Presidents right hand, and has been for some time. She must have had a ton of information, on what we were doing out here after we made contact. Like those tunnels we were using to get supplies to your camp under the Cylon's noses. Oh they had been built and managed by Colonel Tigh, but let's go back to your President's Assistant. She could have easily diverted our style of body armor, or maybe even a few weapons to the Cylons we were both fighting at any time."

Kelly now did a little change of subject on the Colonial. "How long do you think that the Cylons would need to make a copy, of one our pulse laser weapons? And then put it into mass production or even into limited production of some kind?" Kelly raised an eyebrow at the Admiral, as he finished connecting a few of the dots for the other military man.

Adama had that tight lip thing he did when he knows he was wrong about something that he did not want to be wrong about. He did not use it often, but it had come up a few times over the last year or so. When he could not avoid giving an answer, he had to relent and say what he did not want to. "They could have done it a lot faster, than we can do the same thing. How do you know we can trust them? Or what if the human forms prove to be some other people on my ships? How would you address something like this among your people?" Adama had just punted the problem, one part of his mind reminded him.

Kelly laughed and his smile reached his eyes for the first time since the sun had come up today. "Trust? Hell no, we won't trust them. Well at least not yet, and maybe never fully for things that can really hurt us. I think that would be a very hard sell, unless we find some, pardon the pun, earth shattering information of some kind. Look Adama we have a saying back home. One that I've fully believed in for some time. _Trust, but verify the hell out of them._ "

"We could also use another old one. _Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies even closer._ Whoever comes up positive on the cybernetics test, I say we separate them as soon and as safely as we can. We put them in a nice out of the way place, and then question them when we have the time. I think we need to find out what they know. We know from talking to the other Cylons we've captured or talked to that most of the sleeper agents don't even know they're Cylons. That is unless they are triggered somehow. I take it that you will turn over all of the people that test positive as Cylons, for us to handle?" Kelly kept his eyes leveled at the Admiral, he was now glad that the computer recordings were legally binding as any written contract. "Thank you Coalition States and your drive to kill reading," thought Kelly as he watched Bill Adama.

 _"This might not be workable, but it is a good idea. We've also already set a precedent, when we had let them take over the handling of all prisoners."_ Thought Bill, as he worked out a few different angles in his head. It would keep any hidden Cylons safer, in case someone like Cally went nuts and shot them in the face again. It would also give the Earthers something they seem to want badly, and he could use that later to get something the Colonials need equally as bad.

Bill went from stone still to moving and talking again. "Done," was his one word reply, at the same time giving his consent to the idea. _"I am going to have to make sure Laura has had a few drinks in her, before I tell her about what I have just done. She might want to keep them, for pushing out of the airlock,"_ thought the elder Adama to himself as he made sure that he had his best poker face on. He was careful not to let anything show on his face.

He felt his face start to lose control as his mind started to wonder again. He asked a question to give him some cover, if it slipped too much. His body was telling him that he was in a highly distressed situation and that he needed to get out of it as quickly as he could. "So when would we have this event? It would need to be pretty soon. I don't know about your people, but this..." He pointed towards the living room and the two sleeping people there. "...Will get out sooner rather than later, and then we will be open to the damage done to our little secret by any remaining Cylons we do not have under some kind of control."

Kelly smiled at the other man who was going for the main idea that his people had come up with hook, line, and sinker as they used to say. He just hoped that it did not turn out to be a repeat of the case of when the dog finally caught the hover car. "How about in three days? We can use Warehouse One as the event place for it. We have used it before for something similar, and it would not take long to get it set up again. The numbers we were talking about before, are about a third of what we have hosted there before for a rewards dinner."

Adama just nodded, and made a note on a piece of paper, which he put back in his pocket, so that he would remember the high points of this conversation. "Agreed," this was again his one word reply to Captain Kelly. He had not even thought that much about how some might think that this was a civil matter and should have been handled by Laura. Or worse, that it might have fallen under the Quorum's purview to make an agreement like this.

Before more could be talked about, they were interrupted by a new threat in the cabin. All of a sudden, noises started to come from the living room. Before the pair of leaders could get within full sight of living room again, the shouting started, and was getting louder by the second. Almost all of it was coming from a well-known female voice. This was both good and bad, neither man knew if any of the people in the other room was armed or not.

"Who the frak spiked my drink! I'm going to seriously frak someone up. Who the frak are you? And why are you lying on the floor, you dumb frakker?" There were a few seconds of quiet, that most people who knew the voice would have known was not a good sign. Then the quiet was broke by a bellow that should have shaken the roof off of the cabin.

"FRAK ME! Get out of my way grunt!" Adama and Kelly were almost taken off their feet by the low flying projectile named Kara Thrace, as she made the corner at just below light speed. She did not make eye contact with any of the two men. She just ran through them, and into the open bedroom door behind the officers.

She was just a blur of pumping legs and arms as she went by. She did not even shut the door behind her. The pair of leaders did not need to ask questions about what she was doing. They could hear almost everything, as she just barely made it to the large bathroom near the bed in time. From behind them they heard another door open and close. This was the one that led to the other bedroom and bathroom combination for this rental unit.

Kelly regained his feet, and gave the other man a sly smile. He replayed what had just happened from a God's eye point of view, and it was extremely funny. That is if you looked at it a certain way, and you had the sense of humor that God gave at least a goat. "Guess they've snapped out of their trance. Want to place a bet on what they will remember from it?" Kelly raised one eyebrow to emphasize the humor as he dusted the seat of his pants off of any dirt it might have just picked up off of the floor.

Adama just shook his head side to side, and he felt a sly smile coming to his own craggy face. He also thought what had just happened to them to be funny, and after so long on the run, his funny bone was easy to tickle, in private. "No Bet. After the last time I was around someone talking to the Gods, I've been talking to people who said they've dealt with an oracle before. She should happy and thankful that she was lucky enough to make it to the bathroom, or can remember her name. After what they've been through, they should be happy that they were not bleeding or otherwise leaking out of every orifice of their bodies." Bill shuddered, unable to hold back the images flashing in his head. The list of possible reactions of an oracle coming out of a trance was long, and not very pretty at the best of times. In fact they read like something out of a horror story or someone with a very warped mind might have dreamed up.

Kelly was doing his best not to laugh, but it was a hard battle to win. Besides, it did not help Kelly to keep a straight face that they could still hear Starbuck ranting and raving like a madwoman in the bathroom only one wooden door away. No one could ever say that she did not have a way with the Colonial language. That ranting and raving kept going right up to the second she returned to the living room threshold. She stopped dead in her tracks, now seeing her boss standing in the room, illuminated by an overhead skylight. In her mad rush to the bathroom, she had not noticed who she had almost run over on her way to emptying her bladder.

She quickly responded in true Starbuck fashion, with the first thing that popped into her mind falling right out of her mouth. "Sir, what the frak are you doing here?" Starbuck was very rarely at a loss for words, but she was having one of those rare moments now. That short string of words, were all of the words that she could string together in any way... for now.

Adama was trying to look stern, hoping that he could get her to stop. That is before she did something, Starbuck-ish. Plus it was sometimes fun when a commander could mess with one of his subordinates without crossing any of the many lines that normally blocked such events from happening. "Captain Thrace, this is one of the three leaders of the Earthers on this planet, Captain Kelly." He pointed to the stranger beside him, who was also in a strange uniform. The stranger had an equally stern look on his face as he made eye contact with the Viper jock still trying to zip up her pants.

Kara straightened up a little as she understood the importance of the words Bill had just said. Her quick mind was trying to remember or just plain get back to normal functions again. What could she have done last night to have both the Admiral and one of the Earther leaders in her rented place? She was not finding anything, but a big gray hole in her memory after they had returned from the Gambling Hall last night. She did not think she had done anything wrong, but the Old Man would not have flown down from his damaged Flagship unless she had done something major, and worse, had been caught doing it. She was kicking herself. She had only drunk two whole drinks with alcohol in them all night! This was just not frakking fair!

"Sir's I don't know what I did last night, but I did not mean to. Someone must have spiked my drink, when I was playing cards last night." She looked at Adama with pleading eyes, but her tone was not whinny at all. "Sir, you have to believe me. I was not causing any trouble. Just ask Anders, he's around here somewhere." She started looking around the areas of the cabin that she could see, but her husband was nowhere to be seen. One part of her mind, noted this to her, as another bad sign about whatever happened last night.

After looking around the cabin, she returned her gaze back to the Admiral. "I was even keeping count on the number of drinks I had, just in case. I swear to the Lords, Sir. I was only just starting to feel them, when we left the Hall. I did not even get a warning or anything. It's all just... grey. I remember all of the frak I raised about wanting to buy my silver bar back. I remember walking back to this place. I even remember someone knocking on the door after I updated my log book on expenses and winnings. After that, it's all just gone!"

Adama was in full bully mode, and used this tone to intimidate her. He knew she would pay him back later for this. Bill knew this from watching Saul and her go at it for a few years now. He knew that you had to take the points when you could get them with Kara. "Captain Thrace why don't you sit down, and tell us everything you can remember about last night."

Bill tilted his head down to look over the top of his glasses at her, and his mouth was just a thin line. "And don't leave one word out, or we will know about it Captain." Inside Bill Adama was having a good time, and was having a hard time keeping his face in the game. He knew how good Starbuck was at gambling, and the slightest slip would blow the game he was playing this morning.

Kara just sat down at the command, and was about to start talking when the other bedroom door opened almost on cue. Kelly turned and pointed an accusing finger back to the bedroom. Dexter's eye went wide when he saw his Captain, standing in the living room he had vacated only a few minutes before. Kelly did not have to say a word when he pointed off to one direction with a slight wave of that one finger.

Dexter knew that he was supposed to go back to the bedroom, and that they would talk to him when the Captain was ready. He would just have to wait to see what had happened to bring Kelly off his ship so early in the morning. The one advantage he had over Starbuck, was that he had already been through this routine a number of times before this morning. So he knew what was coming, if not how long it would take until his grilling was going to start.

The first thing he wanted to take care of was important. He closed the bedroom door, and was going to go spend some time in the bathroom again. Then he had to find some pain killers that should be somewhere in the bedroom. Once he found them, he needed to find some food and water to fill the empty spot in his belly. If all else failed, then he could always just go back to sleep for a while, as he waited for his grilling to start. "At least I have a TV this time", he said out loud to an empty room. He activated the entertainment device, and tried to make the best of the situation he had found himself in again. He would be sleeping, stretched out on the top blankets of the bed in no time.

Kelly and Adama watched as the man turned, and reenter the bedroom that he had just exited. When the door closed behind Dexter, they returned their gaze back to Starbuck sitting on the couch. And she was not enjoying the looks coming from the two highly ranked officers. Kelly was also starting to enjoy this little game that the Colonial commander was playing.

Starbuck looked back and forth between them. She had the look on her face that said she knew she was so frakked. _"Well, at least the frakker Colonel Tigh is not hanging around here somewhere,"_ was exactly what she had thought to herself. She would have told Bill Adama more of her secrets, than even her husband knew, but she was not alone with only 'The Adama.'

"Sir, I don't think this is something that we might want to get out to people. You know, that are outside your command." She could not help, but shoot a glance over to the Earther officer. She about jumped out of her skin, when a computer voice came from a few feet away. Her head snapped around, and she could see what had to be an Earther computer on the breakfast bar. It was another thing she had not seen in her rush to the bathroom, or on her way back into the living room.

Adama did not smile. he just tilled his head down some more to get a hard glare going at his target. "Captain Thrace. Captain Kelly probably knows more about what is going on, than you do. So just frakking spill it already." Bill was starting to now get annoyed with Starbuck, for real. Normally he would not have minded that she was being cagey about information getting into the wrong hands. She just was not that good at being subtle about the not wanting to say it.

Starbuck nodded her head in understanding. She could see a subtle shift in the older Adama's body language, and she went all the way back from the time they landed. That was where she started talking, and she kept talking in one long waterfall of words. She covered ever little detail, and as much of the conversations as she could remember them. She went all the way up to the point where she had awakened on the couch a little while ago. And had almost run over the two military leaders as she made a break to the bathroom. She had to back track a few times, but one of the things that made her one of the greatest Viper pilots was that she had a mind like a steel trap. She had a very good ability to recall the memories that her mind held. That was if she did not have too much Ambrosia the night before. Then all bets were off if she could remember her name for the first two hours after waking up after a bottle or three.

As the two leaders had expected, they did not find anything earth shattering from her story as she remembered it. The leaders now knew that Starbuck had some hidden talent, or used to have one even before coming to this planet. Her name would be added to that very secret list of people who might have the talent. Adama did not know about that list of special people, yet. The list had been drawn up as a contingency in case the ability for magic returned to the group whether it be soon or at some point in the future.

It was hoped that the list would stop something that had happened way back at the beginning of the Dark Age. Things had been written in the few books, stories, and notes from that time about the mass confusion caused by emerging magic users. It was hoped that this list might help to avoid some of the troubles that had been reported to have happened back on Rifts Earth.

Now Starbuck took a breath and looked at the two men. "Sirs, that's it, that is all that I can remember. Now I have a question. What happened, and why do I feel like my head was shoved into the jump engine of a Raptor? It's worse than any hangover I've ever had before." As Starbuck talked about her hangover, she started rubbing both of her temples. If she had not, in the past, had to deal with half a hundred hangovers right before flying, she might not have wanted to move, much less be able to talk to someone.

Adama looked to Kelly and shot him what might have been a questioning look. Captain Kelly took it as his turn to fill in a few of the blanks. "Captain Thrace, when you met Dexter last night, it connected something buried deep in both of your brains. As near as we can tell, when two people who have some special Talent meet, they channel 'something' into our little part of the world as we perceive it." Kelly passed over the pad of paper with all of the line drawings on the many pages. "You and one of my people, have been doing this all night." Kelly raised both of this eyebrows, but he tried not to scare this woman too much. "Does this seem familiar, to you at all?"

Starbuck took the offered pad of paper from the Earther. She flipped through the pages and tilted the pad through all sorts of angles, craning her neck every which way. Some of those angles did not seem to be possible with a human neck, but she did it anyway. She was trying to see if anything seemed familiar on those pages. After about a dozen pages, she thought some of them looked like maps of the Bucket, but she was not sure. She did not remember doing any of it, and the lines were a lot neater than was normal for her to draw at the best of times. It did not even look like her handwriting on the few notes or printed captions near some of the lines.

She had done some art work back home on her off time that she always made sure to never to show anyone. Well, Zack had seen some of it, but he had died not long afterwards. It was very much in the impressionist style of art, if you could try to put it in a category. Her artwork had never had the fine detail or realism that these drawings on the pages held. She flipped the pages back to flatten the pad back out, and passed it back to the stranger standing next to her Admiral. She was shaking her head from side to side. "I have no idea what those are. So what happened to me is normal?" The tone she heard in her own ears, sounded both confused and concerned at this recent development.

Kelly gave a soft laugh, but he quickly got the feeling that she was not joking. From what he had read of her dossier, normal and Starbuck were two words that were very rarely used in the same sentence. He let the smile on his face soften just a little bit. "No Captain Thrace, it is not normal. It was more normal back home, but since we've been on this planet? It has only happened a few times, in all of the years that we've been here." He looked at Adama, but he was still talking to the woman sitting on the couch. "I think it is happening more often, now that our two people have started to work more closely together. I would recommend that you take a mild pain pill I left over on the Bar, it will help with the head ache."

That seemed to placate the Viper pilot. She rose from the couch, and headed toward the bar with the little white pill where she stopped dead in her tracks. Kelly turned to look and talk to Bill Adama. "Admiral I think we are done with the Captain Thrace. Would you like to talk to Dexter, before we let the others back in here?"

Adama looked at the other leader, then back to Starbuck who was standing stock still about three steps from the bar and the pain pill that was on it. Bill let his face soften, and even let a small smile cross his lips. "Starbuck, you did well. Why not take the pill Captain Kelly left for you, and go stretch out on a real bed. When we're done. I will make sure your husband knows, and to get back over here to check up on you." The tone that Adama used was one, which he had used on Starbuck before. It was not his command voice, it was his _"I am as close to a father that you have ever had, and you are the daughter that I never had"_ voice.

The two men rose from the chairs they had been sitting on and Starbuck started moving again at the sign that they were indeed done with the questions for her. They each collected the pads of paper from the low table, and went to the other bedroom with the little computer in the Earther's off hand. Starbuck waited for the door to close behind the two leaders, and then took the advice she had been given about lying down and getting some real sleep. Her head was splitting like the worst hangover she had ever had in her entire life, and that was some list of hangovers to compare it to. She walked back to the bar and found two white pills. She knew that there was a short glass in the bathroom next to the bed. It was not long before she was stretched out on the bed waiting for the pills to take effect, and wishing that they would work faster. She was lucky and less than five minutes after she could tell that the pills were working on her. She only heard a door close, but not much more. She marveled at the thick insulation they must have built into this cabin.

She had no way to know that the two senior officers had only spent about ten minutes talking with Dexter in the other bedroom. It was useless to talk to someone who had something like this blackout in their minds or memories. Kelly was mainly wanting to show the Colonial commander that it was okay for his people who had experience this type of thing. And might experience it in the future as more and more Colonials started walking around out in the open air. Everyone would be treated the same, no matter what group they belonged to in these types of events. When the two naval officers finally left the rental home, they took with them the two pads of paper when they closed the heavy front door. It would have been useless to tell either of the two, not to say something with an order. So they did not say a word about keeping it quiet at all. It was a risk, but less risky than giving an order that might not be followed because it was an order that was impossible to follow.

When the two had closed the main wooden door, Adama noticed that a young child was waiting at the oddly shaped table and bench combination outside of the rental cottage. Kelly just gave a nod to the child, and she was off like a shot going deeper into the Settlement like some kind of biological guided missile. Adama just turned and looked at the other commander and waited for an explanation. He could tell that a prearranged order had been given, but what that order was, he did not have a clue. He just had a good idea what those orders might have been.

Kelly saw the look, and pulled out the thin computer from his pocked. He shifted it in his hands to make sure the right program was running. "The child was waiting for us to leave the cottage. I would bet it was Major Weston who sent and paid for her to wait for us to exit. He was probably thinking as soon as we left, that we were done with those two. She will get word back to him, and the others that we are done. Your people should be told soon, that they can come back. A lot sooner than if we had to track them down, and talk to them. If you want to wait for them, you can take a seat on the picnic table." Kelly pointedly did not point out, that the cabin was being watched by the Earthers playing their game not far away.

Adama nodded in agreement. "I would like to go through these engineering diagrams again, but in more detail. Do you have some place, were we can do that and not be interrupted by too many people?"

Kelly nodded, and his face was noncommittal. "I was thinking the same thing, but was going to bring it up later. How about we use my Day Cabin on my ship? We can be alone and still have access to the information network for any additional information or contacts, that we might need while we work. I happen to think that my staff is top shelf, you are more than welcome to avail yourself of them."

The Colonial, did not say anything. He only nodded his head in agreement to what the Captain had said, and the computer had translated it.

* * *

The two men walked to the modified warship, and spent the rest of the day in Captain Kelly's day cabin on the Neptune's Revenge. Their only breaks were for food, and to answer high priority messages from the Settlement or the Colonial Fleet. It was during one of these breaks, when the two men were eating in the common mess that something tickled part of Adama's back brain. He was fighting to figure what it might mean, as he had a meal of fish steak and a fresh green salad with an unknown, but very nice tasting type of dressing applied to the leaves. One part of Bill's mind, was thinking about how normal this all seemed, if you did not realize that the people were talking in a completely alien language.

Adama was looking at the painting on one side of the metal wall room. He used his chin to point to the painted wall. The little translation computer had never been more than a few feet away from them all day. "Captain Kelly, your ship's name. It's caused some issues in the fleet already. In some of the few books and databases we still have access to, it is said that Neptune was a god of the seas and oceans, like Poseidon. Others say that it is just another name for Poseidon himself. It is strange how you say that you don't know about the Lords of Kobol, but you still seem to have some sort of a connection to them." Just as he stopped talking, the little itch in the back of his mind jumped into something else. His eyes went wide as something came to him, like a blurry image suddenly becoming clear. He pulled out one of the two pads of paper that Starbuck and Dexter had worked on through the night. No one else was in the dining room with them at that time, so Bill did not feel like he should keep quiet, as he tried to put words to his thoughts as best he could.

He started pointing at different pages, seemingly at random. "With your help we know this is supposed to be the Lucky Find, but look at how she is sitting in comparison to the hull of my ship. I thought about this set up before, late one night. But it is the most difficult line up to pull off, even with the plans we've looked at so far."

Bill pulled over a paper napkin from down the long table. He started to draw on it with a pen out of one of his pockets. Adama drew first the outline of his damaged Battlestar with the missing hangar pod, in rapid but very neat lines on the almost brown colored rough paper. "My first thought, was to have both of your ships' top deck and bridge facing out away from the main hull of my ship and out towards space. It was the about the easiest to do, and would let us use both of the ships' firepower if we were attacked by the Cylons again, or anyone else that we might run into." Bill pointed to an area on the hand drawn diagram absentmindedly.

Kelly was watching and listening. He had read a lot of reports about this man, even if they turned out to be only half true. The Colonial Admiral's resume would be impressive as all hells, but he was a space naval officer. He did not have any experience dealing with blue navy ships of almost any kind.

Kelly looked at what the Colonial had drawn and what he had said. He gave his head a slightly negative shake. "That won't work. The ships are what we called space rigged, because of the high odds that they might run into a Rift back home at any time day or night." Kelly was shaking his head a little harder from side to side. "That does not mean that they can successfully be used in space combat. The cargo holds hatches and lids would or should hold against the pull of vacuum, but they don't have airlocks mounted on them. So you could not use them once the ships are in a full space condition. They are also the weakest structurally areas on the whole ship, and they also would be under the most stress at the same time. Rob and I were thinking that we would need to talk to some of your damage control people. We want to see about what they would take to reinforce all of our hatch covers. I still think they should go over the both ships, to see if they find any issues our people might have overlooked somehow."

Adama looked up at Kelly over his glasses and was quite as his eyes blinked rapidly. "I did not think about that." Then Bill sucked his lips in a little. Bill did not like admitting that he was out of his depth, and he made a more sour face. "I did not think about that. I'm a little short on experience working around large ocean going ships, and turning them into spaceships like machines. I think we need to set up a group to look more closely at this, when we have the time."

Bill started tapping the pen on the table top without noticing it. He was thinking hard about something. "I had already canned that idea for two reasons. One was all of the heavy cranes the Lucky Find is carrying. We will need items like that, when we all find a new home. And we would have to remove them, when we get somewhere safe from the Cylons. I can't tell you how many times I had wished that we had something like them, when we were planning a project down here. I'd bet that they'd be well worth any effort to make sure they stay operational while we're traveling. You know if her captain has any detailed information on those cranes, by the way?" He had not looked up from the line drawing as he was talking.

Now Bill looked away from his line drawing, to make eye contact with the Earther sea captain. "The second reason I had cancelled the plan was that with the way I had envisioned it sitting on the hull, I wasn't sure my jump field would cover her, with those cranes sticking so far out of her main hull like they are. What you said about the cargo hold's hatches, now makes my primary option more difficult to back."

Adama flipped the napkin over, and started to draw on the other side of the thin paper. As he worked, Bill flipped it over and over, to make sure he was working on a sideways view of the battlestar. It did not take long for Kelly to work out, that he was a making a more detailed drawing of the cargo ship called Lucky Find on the other side of the napkin. He could tell that the Colonial had done this drawing more than a few times in the recent past. He had added some details that would only be noticed if you had seen detailed images and had redrawn them a number of times. "I had been working on this version of lining everything up. It would help with the grave plating we use on our ships. If we can work out the cargo hold issue, which I had not thought about, and some of the other issues, that I had been working on, this was the way I had been thinking of what she might look like."

Kelly was flipping through the drawings in the pad that Dexter had done his drawings on. All the while listing to the Colonials translated voice, and looking at the drawings on the pad of paper. He absently mindedasked a question to the Colonial commander. "What other issues would that be Admiral?"

Adama was chewing on the end of his pen, and thinking at the same time. Maybe the Earther captain had some ideas that would help. The worst that could happen was he would just get a blank look. Bill started tapping the end of the pen with the tip of one finger. "I was working on how to connect your ships into the main life support systems of a battlestar. How would we get good air, and good water to your side of the ship? Then we will have to get the bad air and waste water, back into my ship's recycling and support systems. After that the other things are kind of simple. If there were not a frakking ton of them that still needed to be worked out."

While Adama was talking, Kelly was looking at the drawings. Then like a lightning bolt, he knew why the ships were placed the way they were in the drawings. He had to blink a few times and he almost stopped breathing. "Could it really be that easy? It can't be that easy, could it?"

Now it was Kelly's turn to flip through a dozen of the long sheets of line filled pages. When he was surer of his revelation, he looked up to see the Colonial staring at him. "It's the engines. That's why they wanted it set this way." Kelly's eyes went huge, as he worked out a major piece of the puzzle that had been dropped in their laps. Now some things were starting to make sense.

Adama looked at the computer screen, and then back to the other man at the table. His eyebrows were almost touching on his forehead. He did not say something for almost half a minute, but what was on the screen and the line drawings were not making any sense to him. "What about the engines?" He finally asked the blue water commander, and he almost threw his hands up into the air over his head in frustration.

Kelly was looking up from the notepad after flipping through a few more pages. "The Lucky Find was designed to burn petroleum products for power, what we call _Oil_. Or, like now, we can use wood alcohol to provide the energy for her to do her designed functions. Basically, as long as we have organic material that we can distill into something that can be used as fuel, she can run off that. All of the life support systems are run through, and managed in her main engine room. That is where we pump air, water, and waste to wherever it needs to be. That's why the ship is on her side, facing into the side of your ship, Admiral. You can run your support lines right down her smoke stack, and it leads right into the heart of that ship! All without having to cut and seal all of the holes that you would have to cut in other wise!"

Kelly was looking at what he thought was the right area of the page, and bit his lower lip, and furrowed his brow. "But how will you supply a source of heat in the cold of space to her? I don't think running engines that need to use a lot of O2 and fuel to work will do. All only to provide heat, in the deep of space. I just don't think that might be the best of ideas, if you know what I mean?"

Adama now understood most of what the other man was saying, but he was working on getting better. He had not thought about an engine that burned something with Oxygen to generate usable energy. Colonials for a long time had not had to use anything besides Tyulim to meet there energy needs. It was just not something anyone had done in living memory, or even in the history books. At least not that he could remember, well, for anything larger than a few certain high end passenger transports. It took a few seconds for everything that Kelly had said to come together in Bill's mind.

Adama could not help it, but let a little smile come to his face. He had forgotten that this man had never left his home planet, expect by some kind of magical blue energy rift. "Heat won't be an issue Captain Kelly. When you're in deep space, it's hard to conduct heat away from your hull. Space is one of the best insulators known to man. Well, maybe back in the time when the lords of Kobal were still alive, they might have had a few secrets that man still does not understand. That is one of the reason some spaceships smell like old and well used locker rooms. That's also one of the reasons, we did not have the proper clothes for this cold planet. The Galactica's fine in this regard, but some of the other ships in our old fleet, we had to just get used to sweating bucketloads, while on mission." He traced a line on one of the pages. "This is a supply airline. The air is as cool as we can make it, but it will have problems keeping the temperature even close to comfortable for people used to this cold of a planet. As the air moves around the ship it soaks up the heat from the surrounding area. Your people might have some overheating issues, if we can make these plans workable, that is."

Kelly was taking in the information as fast as Bill was giving it. It had always been assumed, that keeping warm would be a major issue for any space travelers far from the habitable zone of a Solar system. That had been an accepted fact by not only scientists form the Coalition States, but anyone else that had the guts to talk about this crazy of a subject in public. He went over to the second pad of paper and pointed to a specific sheet of drawings. Kelly was going to have to accept that heating to stay warm was not going to be an issue. He did make a mental note that it did make sense now, that the Colonials did not seem to have much in the way of very warm travelling clothes. He was having a hard time thinking about having to deal with heat strokes instead of hypothermia all of the time. Then again it might be a nice change of pace for a little while.

Kelly spun the notepad again. "Look at this ship's placement. I think this is supposed to be my ship, but its angled facing out from your ship. Just like you had first planned for the Lucky Find, before these pads showed up. This set up would work better for my ship, compared to the way it would for the Find. We have a nuclear power plant in our engine room that can supply power, without burning oxygen to do it. So we would only need access ways, some air and water support from your ship. We will have the same issue with the cargo holds, but we only have two, and they both are a lot smaller than even one of the hatch covers on the Lucky Find. The other supply should be nothing like the scale of what the Lucky Find would need, but she still will need some support. Now, how do we get from our nice water filled bay, into orbit high above the planet?"

The last part had been driving everyone that Kelly had talked to so far nuts. Both of the ships were not exactly small, or very aerodynamic in any way that mattered. In short they were beasts of the blue water, and they had only been out of it when they were built or when they had been drydocked for major repairs or modifications. As far as anyone on both ships knew, neither one had was meant for flying through the air, except for a few drug induced dreams of some kind.

Adama pulled his glasses off of his face, and pinched his nose with his right hand. "We are going to need to make extra gravity plates for one, lots of them. We need to mount them on each deck in both of the ships. Then all we have to do is hook them up to strong enough power sources on the boats. When you flip them on, we'll need to make a few adjustments that will lower the effective weight of your ships on the planet surface. It won't do anything about the mass of the ships, but it should work well enough. It's the basic idea of how we can hover our space ships in the atmosphere, without needing much ventral engine thrust to keep them safe on landing or taking off. The problem will be, if your pair of ships can take the stress of the lifting off. After that... it gets a bit more complicated. Nothing that can't be done, it's just going to take a lot of planning and man-hours to make sure we do this right."

Kelly had read a few reports by now that said the Colonials had some kind of antigravity device on their ships. But when Adama had said it, and that they could make more of the devices? This was astounding to hear for the Earther. They might not know anything about real high powered weapons and armor, but they did have some scientific areas very well covered. It was with wide eyes that Kelly interrupted the older Adama. "How long will it take to make enough of these plates for both ships? Can my people do anything to help speed up the process of making more?"

Kelly knew that his people were on a tight timeline, and the clock was not going to slow down any time soon. If was very clear, if they stayed they died. So Kelly did not want to take the slow and steady approach of only doing one thing at a time. They just could not afford it. And it seemed that waiting until the last minute had never been his cup of tea. If he had not been born that way, then it was a deep seated family trait that was taught to all of the kids.

Adama took a breath, and looked at the other man after putting his glasses back on. He wanted to see any clues that might show on the other man's face. It was time to put all of the cards on the table, at least all of the cards that Bill knew about. "I have to get all of the parts, and needed materials for the civilian ships produced first from our limited manufacturing shops. They have to be taken care of as my first priority. We are short and getting shorter on most of the needed material, at least until the Pegasus and her group gets back. That is if she found what we need. After that we should be able to make enough, in a few weeks. But again that is if my other captain has found enough raw materials to do both jobs. If they don't bring back enough on the first run, they might have to make two or more missions to find what we need to make it safer at least for those beer cans. That also does not count any minor or major items that might break down between now and then. I would have said that it would have taken longer to get them made, but with these."

Bill was now patting both long pads of drawings on the table top. "These will make it a lot easier. That's because now they can make them to exactly the sizes we need. With detailed measurements of each open area on both of the ships. They can make all of the standard sized plates now that we have a better idea of how many decks and things we are going to need to cover. After that, they can then work on the special sized ones. We will still have some issues, but it will be a lot less than we would have had to deal with if we had to do everything by hand. If that happens we would need a lot more hands to do the job. The more hands means less experienced hands doing the work, and that can make for some different issues down the road."

Kelly was nodding and was trying to figure out what his people might do to help this move along a little quicker. "When we start measuring and fitting those plates of yours. We could start unloading the Lucky Find at the same time. It would keep people out of the way, and maybe speed up getting her ready to be lifted up. You said the plates help you lower the mass of an object, so that you can get her close to hovering. How will you go from that level? All the way out to orbit, and near your warship?" Kelly needed to know, but he knew that he needed to know it well enough so that he could fill in his fellow leaders when he told them.

Adama was looking at the other man and he gave him a level look. _"This man was quick on his feet. He would have been a great battlestar commander, if there was another battlestar to command."_ He schooled his face to show nothing of what was going on in his mind. "My current thinking is that we are going to use two to four of the heavy cargo shuttles we have on hand. We could use them as the main lift force. Then we could use some Raptors as something like line men, to control spin and add extra lift if it becomes necessary at any stage of the operation. I was thinking we should move the Lucky Find first, when it's time. She is the largest and heaviest, so we should get her moved first. What we learn from her, will help with the moving of your ship. It will be harder to lift the larger ship, but getting her into the right location will be easier. The placing of the second ship will be a lot harder, and with a lot less room for any errors to happen."

Kelly nodded to Adama. He was not smiling, but almost mimicking the tight lipped look Adama had on his face. "That is what we were thinking also in the few informal bull sessions that I've been able to attend. It's nice to know that we were close on some aspects, even though we lack experience in anything related to space matters." Some of the plans that had been kicked around by Kelly, Bob, and Max, had not started with attaching the ships to a Colonial ship from the rag tag fleet. They were thinking that their people would just pack up there things, and anything else of value. Then they would take up some living space in the rest of the fleet just like any other Colonial.

This plan had been flushed when they found out how tight the Colonials had been packed into those cans, before they had found this planet out of pure luck. In short there just was not enough room on one ship to take all of the people from Earth. There might not have been enough room in the whole fleet to take their people and things. Then they had that first meeting with the top Colonial leaders and the idea came up, with possibly some outside help, of a different way to make it possible. The idea was that it might be possible to lift the ships with all of the storage, machine shops, living space, and food protection up into space. Then they can add all of them to the now exposed side of the damaged battlestar. It almost seemed that the damage was done, just so that the Earth made ship would have a place to be attached to.

The two men only spent another few hours together, mostly alone in Captain Kelly's Day Cabin. They had to wait for one of Kelly's crew to print a copy of each of the pads of drawings, so that each group had a complete copy of all of the technical drawings that had been made. This time Adama would have the originals, to go with the copies from the first meeting while the Earthers had the photo copies of the drawings. Adama had just told the other Captain that it made sense for him to have the originals. It was him, and more importantly his people, that would need to the information to get the job done. Kelly and his people would keep the copy they could use, but it was more that they were keeping the backup copy of all the plans. It was just in case something happened to the original copies while it was orbit. After all there might be more human form Cylons in hiding among the fleet, than the five that they were currently looking for.

They spent most of the extra time talking about the large brass astrolabe, that Kelly had been given a long time ago by a close friend. It was strange to both of them, that something small like that would draw them into such a deep conversation. So deep, that Adama did not leave when the copies of the line drawings were done, and delivered to them in Captain Kelly's office. Bill waited until all of his questions were answered by the other man, about the strange brass device. Kelly for his part made a note to see if they had another one in supply, and if not. He would check to see if one could be made from scratch for the other ships commander, and leader of the now Allied fleet. Kelly was pretty sure that it could be done. The one in his office, he knew, had been homemade. Deep down he wondered why the Colonial was so interested in the device. After all it was not useful on this planet, the stars were different.


	4. Chapter 4 Be Careful Who You Invite

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 4 Be Careful Who You Invite to Dinner**

New Caprica, 858 Days after the Fall of the Colonies,

3 years 8 month AT

Adama was looking at his notes spread out all over the desk in his cabin. The last month had been an even mix of very incredible highs, and some very painful lows. It had kept everyone on their toes. The workload and stress were the likes of which he had not had to deal with for some time. Maybe going all the back to the time they had to do those running jumps from the following Cylons every thirty-three minutes.

They had had to do that for what seemed like forever, and Bill along with every other ship commander had gotten more than a few grey hairs from the ordeal. Bill Adama rocked his desk chair as he tried to make it through this latest task he had to complete first before he could take on the next fire. That one, only he could take care of.

He was working on his official logs. He had let them slip, and had been getting behind on them for some time now. The last one he had completed was done so long ago that he had had to review it before he could continue. It had been completed right after his meeting about what had happened to Starbuck, and his back brief to Laura about it later that day.

After that meeting with the acting President and her staff, they had not planned on spending any more private time together until the big dinner that the Settlement was going to throw as cover for the Cylon test. For once they had been able to stick to the plan as laid out, without any need to make gross modifications to the base idea. Everything after that point had most definitely not gone to plan, or at least not any plan they made.

Now Bill was flashing back to that day, and a deep frown came to his face. Those images replayed like a drama or dream one could not wake one's self from, no matter what one did. He rocked slowly as the horror movie played out inside his head. His fingers started moving to record those memories in his logs.

* * *

The dinner party had gone just as Captain Kelly had said it would. Doctor Sherman Cottle had flown down earlier in the day with an assistant to get everything set up for the group testing. They had gone under the pretense of needing to check out some of the Earthers' medical technologies first hand. He had after all, been pushing hard to be involved before any new drug or procedure was allowed across the fleet.

A wry grin came to Bill's face. That reason was not exactly a lie. The old Colonial doctor had had no idea what would really be going on until he and his assistant were briefed on the plan. Word had gotten out later that he had not been that happy with one Bill Adama, and that it was going to show on his next physical exam.

It had not been an enjoyable meeting when Bill finally told him what he had been volunteered for. After a full five minutes of the chain smoking doctor berating the Admiral, he eventually agreed to the idea and more importantly the cover story that had been set up for it. He also voiced his plan to take as much time as he could checkingout some of the amazing medical devices he had been reading about from the Earthers. It turned out he had already been able to get digital copies of a couple of medical books. The Doctor was not even on the list to go to the party, so he could not be connected to what was going on in any way.

It also turned out that the Settlement's list of attendees included the Cylon Kathy and both of the Agathons. All to what was being touted as the first state dinner between the two groups, by the limited but overly enthusiastic press available to the Colonial fleet. They were at the same time praising the dinner and mad as all frak that none of the members of the press had been invited. Some were even blowing up all over the wireless, saying this was in some way a breach of ethics on Roslin's or the Earthers' part.

With the two Agathons coming to the dinner, it had given the elder Adama a chance to try to mend the broken bridge that had developed between him and the two ex-Colonial Fleet officers. He did not know if it worked or not, but he felt that he should do it, or at least try. It was the right thing to do, even if it was going to be very painful. And after all, he did not get slapped or have a drink dumped on him by them. So he was doing better than some of the other attendees at the dinner.

A sad smile made its way on to Bill he replayed some of the events in his mind. It did not take long for him to find out that the Earthers had a no holds barred idea of what was proper etiquette. At least, when it came to what they can do during a state dinner.

The whole set-up for the dinner party was very different from what would have been used back in the now lost Colonies of Kobol. The dinner party was broken up into three totally different parts which were easy for the Colonials to identify with very little effort or explanation. The first part of the dinner party was in an area where everyone could walk around mingling with each other. Everyone could have a drink or two while they waited for the next stage of the dinner.

It was a very festive and friendly event, with lots of smiles all around. In fact, it was the odd face that had a look saying its owner was not enjoying the event. Both Adama and Laura made mental notes. They wanted to add something like this to their own protocol for any state dinners that might happen in the future. The second and main part of the whole event, was the dinner itself.

For the dinner seating, each table was large and round, with a long cloth covering the top and going down to touch the rough cut wooden flooring. Each one of the wooden tables could easily hold about a dozen people, with some elbow room left for each of the persons seated. The seats were assigned at random around each of those tables. It was hoped that the random layout would help with cross talk between the people at each table and among the nearby tables.

After the meal was done, the group of dinner guests returned to the first area of the party. This was for the after meal drinks and both leaded and unleaded were made available to the quests. This time the open area had a selection of high topped tables and bar stools, for those who wanted to sit while they talked and drank whatever they preferred. This would also let the crowd flow around the tables as people moved about. The volume was significantly higher now. Maybe it was the room's odd styled rafters, or the drinks starting to affect ears and throats.

Adama and Roslin were sitting at one of the tall tables with a couple of tall cold glasses of what must have been some kind of apple juice. It had taken some time for them to get to the dinner, but by now they had almost forgotten why they were having this dinner in the first place. That was when Dr. Cottle entered the Warehouse through the main entrance of the massively built building without any fanfare. Adama was sitting so that he could see that particular door for just that reason. Well, that reason and a few others he did not like to talk about. It was an old habit, but suffice to say he had been expecting the doctor to enter the building called Warehouse One some time tonight. No matter what the results of any test might be.

It was the look on the old doctor's face that made the Admiral start to feel uneasy. He was not smoking anything. That was not normal for him.

As soon as the massive wooden door had closed behind him, the doctor scanned the room looking for someone. Within a few eye blinks, he was making a beeline for the two Colonial leaders sitting at a table alone. He only slowed to light a local made smoke stick, and soon he was leaving a stream of smoke behind him as he walked to his targets. He had one of the Earthers thin computers in his hands, but this one had a cover over the exposed screen. He did not say a word, only giving a quick nod to the two leaders as he set up the little device, angling it so that no one else could see what he was about to show the pair.

The first image he showed on the screen were the two scans of Athena and Kathy next to a scan that had been done of the older Adama. Adama had not even noticed the medical scan being done, and that disturbed him a little deep in his soul. More than he thought it should, but he could see the difference on the displayed images. With only a little prompting by the chain smoking doctor.

It would seem that not only did the Earthers have a Cylon detector, but its output was simple enough that even he could see the difference. Laura was almost in Bills lap as the display was explained in soft voices to both of them. This was drawing a few looks from around the nearby crowd, but nothing was said. Laura would shoot the occasional smile or give out a mid-volume laugh, at odd times that did not match with what was going on between them. At first the two men were concerned about her, until they noticed the looks from the closer tables. Then they understood her diversion, and accepted the need but they did not join in with her actions. It delayed the explanation for a few minutes.

When the two Colonial leaders told the doctor that yes, they could see the difference in the images,he did some odd pinching motions on the screen with his hand. Six images were now on the display's small screen. The three of them could easily see the same markers on five images on the screens displayed before them. There were Cylons at the party, and small inset images identified who each of them were. That was a mood killer and a half, like a person with a high protein diet passing gas in a car with the windows welded shut and all of the doors locked.

Kelly had walked up behind the doctor, not long after he had changed the screen to show all of the images. To let the three know that he was there, he had cleared his throat. He wanted to let them know that someone was there. Kelly did not and truth be told, he did not need to say a word. He had placed his wide body between the Colonials and the nearest bystanders.

All three of the Colonials knew why he was there. Adama did not remember it, but Laura told him later. He just said to the other man to 'take them all'. It was a simple statement, even in the badly accented English he used. And Kelly had only nodded at the ice cold tone coming from the Colonial Admiral. Kelly knew that there was no way he could understand what the other commander was going through. Maybe it would be like if Kelly suddenly found out that his best friend had been working with slavers for decades.

This simple statement given by Bill Adama started a chain reaction of events all around the converted Warehouse. It was not an explosion of action like some entertainment programs liked to show, with police taking the bad guys in a rush of bodies. That could have been the plan. Captain Kelly and more importantly, Major Weston's just did not like being sneaky if they did not absolutely have to be.

Instead it was a lot more subtle than that. Some of the Settlement law enforcement personnel went into action with only a single motion involving the three longest fingers sticking up from Kelly's right hand. Waiters that had been walking around the room servicing the diners now had two new people joining their ranks. It was done so smoothly that no one noticed the additions to the support staff. Not even any of the Earthers that were supposed to be doing the work.

At four different tables, drinks were refreshed without being asked by the people that were drinking them in under a pair of minutes. Unknown to the people drinking those nonalcoholic drinks, a single purple drop had been added to the drinks of five different people. Now all of that time spent watching Galen Tyrol looked to be paying off for Major Weston and his staff. That was when the Cylon in hiding was thought to have been playing some kind of game on the Colonials or Earthers that he had called friends. So they had played some back on him. They had tested about a half dozen drugs on him without him knowing it. This one had proven to be the one that best fit what Major Weston wanted to happen to them. Galen had only thought that his passing out had been from too much drinking.

To the surprise of many people who knew what was going on, the first of the final five to pass out was Tyrol who had not been drinking anything that had alcohol in it. When his head hit the table something else started without any commands being given aloud. Two large men with 'Courtesy Patrol' stenciled on white arm bands helped the sleeping man out of the room without any fanfare. To be fair, Tyrol had not been the first person that had had to be given this treatment tonight by people with those armbands on.

Sam Anders and Tory Foster were the next Cylons to hit the table tops with their heads. Only about a dozen seconds separated their heads hitting the tall hardwood table tops. The pair where taken out of the dinner by two sets of paired patrollers that seemed to have been only a few steps away from the two. This did get a few looks, as these two were not known to overdrink in public. Or more to the point for Sam Anders, pass out and leave a sober Starbuck unsupervised. The look of abject surprise on her face at seeing her husband's head hit the tabletop with a thud was one for the record books.

Ellen and Saul Tigh were the last two to pass out, and it was some time after Sam and Tory had been carried out of the building, to the amazement of the support staff working in the kitchen, hidden from view. it had taken three whole spiked drinks to get them to go to sleep in their chairs. That was on top of the very strong drinks the pair had already been drinking for a couple of hours without any visible effect.

One would think that with the amount of white lightning the pair was throwing down their throats, the drug should have been more effective. And it was, to a point. It was just that these two were what some would have called power or hollow leg drinkers. Their abused bodies could tolerate any depressant in large volumes. It was a trait they had developed just for their bodies to survive what they went through on a regular basis. It was a surprise to none of the Colonials when those two heads hit the table. It was a popular betting pool on when they would show the different levels of drunkenness.

There had not been any names next to each of the medical images that had been on the screen, just small images that were off to one side. Adama noticed the heads started going down one after the other. So he was watching the Tighs being helped out of the room, and his worst fears were coming into reality right before his eyes. Adama's stomach felt like it had been rammed by a runaway Viper. Or maybe a runaway battlestar. Bill had known what he had been told by Kelly, but seeing it all unfold before his eyes live and in person? It went from an exercise in mental what ifs, to now having the facts being rubbed in his face. Like a dog who had messed on the floor.

Laura was tightly holding Bill's hand under the table, but she could tell that the man she loved was in extreme distress. Laura had been told by Bill what the Earthers had thought Tory was, and she had come to grips with it already. That did not mean that she was not surprised when it turned out to be true. Besides she had only known the woman a few months, whereas Bill had known Saul for literally decades. Even then she would say that she had been very upset by the information.

Bill and Laura were out of the Warehouse only a few minutes after the Tighs had been escorted and carried out of the building. They did not say a word between leaving the table, and getting all the way out to the open spot where they could pick up their ride back up to the still under repair flagship. The pair of Colonial leaders were the only passengers on that early Raptor when it lifted off from the planet's surface on its way back to orbit.

The crew just got a slight shake of the head from Laura when they had asked if they should wait for the others that had ridden down to the surface with them. The Admiral had not said a word to anyone. And he still did not remember anything between their leaving the dinner party and his arriving at his living quarters. Laura wanted to stay in the Admiral's cabin with the man she now considered her boyfriend, but she had an early morning meeting with the Quorum, and she could not dodge it this time. So she had to leave her man in his state of extreme distress, all alone in his cabin for the night. She had a feeling of dread as she caught another small craft over to Colonial One.

* * *

It was a few days after the dinner party when the Battlestar Pegasus and her charges returned to the system from their scouting and mining mission. Apollo was very happy with himself when the little fleet under his command successfully checked in after the last jump. He was feeling like a real commander with a real fleet at his disposal. He had found what they needed, as well as made sure there were no signs of Cylons hiding around the local area. Those had been the two key mission objectives his father had given him before they left.

The civilian ships had been able to extract the much needed raw materials to completely fill their cargo holds, and still make it back to the hidden system all in one piece. And all before he had been scheduled to return at what the Admiral had thought was the best case scenario for a viable timeline. Lee Adama had pushed his crews and all of the ships hard. All to bring back as much of the needed raw materials as quickly as they possibly could.

Someone in the little fleet under his command had come up with a great out of the box idea after they had left the main fleet. So they had shifted most of the processed ore ingots to the battlestar, and off of the mining ships while they worked on filling the massive, almost empty cargo holds. This one idea had increased the total amount of raw ores that the whole fleet could bring back for one trip. It also allowed them to run the Viper production plant at its maximum output level as soon as they started pulling the right ores out of free floating rocks.

Those few little off the wall ideas had not been all on the plus side, however. When they were ready to leave the mining area they found one of the downsides. They had transferred so many of the half ton consolidated ingots of ore to the battlestar that it was starting to affect the ship's combat performance. When Lee was told of the issue, he stopped any more from being transferred over. He did not send any back, simply told his people to figure out a way to work around them.

He had hoped that his father would be proud with their success and early return, but all was silent from the Fleet Flagship when Lee and his fleet returned. Well, it was silent besides the brief contact with the old warship's CIC to let them know that they were friendly.

During the mission, Lee Adama had used some of his free time to read up on a few reports from the Earthers about what might be in space as a threat. That is, what might be out there besides Cylons. It made for some frightening reading, if it was true. He had lost a few nights of sleep after reading some of those reports.

Apollo had been so busy wrapping up, working on everything that needed to be done after his first successful mixed fleet mission, that he did not even notice the time. The time lapse did not register to the main part of his brain until after he had started shifting the raw materials from the mining ships to the manufacturing ships left under his father's watchful gaze. When he finally had time to take a break from the work load, it was almost twelve hours after they had jumped back into this occupied system. It had made for a long day, but Lee had had to deal with longer work shifts than this one. And they were not in the too distant past.

Lee was sitting in his office, and was just about to doze off, when his eyes popped open. He looked at the wall mounted clock and for the first time understood what it meant. It was not like his father to not have checked in on how things had gone personally. Even before the Cylons' new attack, his dad would have tried to find out how a given military task had turned out.

Lee quickly checked his notes in his log as he asked himself a few questions. While doing this he tried to recall his brief exchange with the CIC of the Galactica after IFF had been completed. He found what he was looking for. It was enough information for him to bring up and mentally replay everything that had happened during that contact. Lee made a face and picked up the device mounted on the side of his working desk. With just a few words and buttons pushed, he raised the flagship again.

The duty personnel on the flagship did not sound right to his well trained ear when he asked to speak to his father. The reply he got was odd, and they had not connected him to his father as he had asked them to do. This made Lee's mind start to work faster despite the lack of sleep on top of a long and stress filled day. Apollo could not put his finger on it, but something was wrong with his father. And he was thinking that it was not something that would fall into the minor category.

Lee quickly worked out that if it had been minor, the staff on duty in the flagship's CIC would have told him something like that over the wireless connection between the two warships. Lee's blood pressure shot through the top of his cabin, as he held the receiver to his left ear in a white knuckled grip. He had to fight to keep his temper. For once he wished that he had someone like Saul to sic on the other ship's command crew.

Whatever was wrong, what he could do from his ship was severely limited, so he changed tack. He left a message that he would be coming over to the flagship, and did not bother waiting for a reply before cutting the line. He did not run, but he did powerwalk down to the port hangar pod, and took the next Raptor that was cleared to fly. Many people saw him, but no one had dared to stand in his way. He had looked like he was about to rip the hull plates with his own hands.

He did not even wait for an ECO to report to the craft. He just bumped the young man that was supposed to be on the stick, to the empty ECO seat in the back of the craft. He then proceeded to break another dozen regulations when he jumped the queue, and hot launched the small craft. Lee had eyeballed a least time route to the Flagship, and he was not light on the throttle on the flight path he guided his craft on.

When Apollo landed on the flagship, he was not met by his father or Colonel Tigh on the only hangar pod the ship had left in operation. All the people that should have met him to lower the boom on him for the safety violations he had just committed were missing. He almost missed his step coming off the wing when he was met by Felix looking up at him. That was another layer of mystery as to what had gone on while he had been away. Felix was again in a Colonial uniform. It was like he had never left fleet, never gone to work with Baltar for the last few months.

Felix told him about the five Colonials being held in the Settlement. Lee almost tripped over his own feet when he was told that they had all tested positive for being new models of human form Cylons. Lee did not know what to think at first when he was told that they were being held by the Earthers and not in a Colonial brig or even on the prison ship. At least until someone could figure out what was going on. If they were Cylons or not.

Lee figured this might explain why his father was missing in action. Something like that must be at the top of the list of major political and military disasters for the Colonials and the Earthers. Maybe that was why he was picking up something going on in the background.

Lee asked Felix about his missing father while they were still walking down one of the larger corridors of the old ship. Felix just closed his mouth and sucked in his lower lip until none of it was visible to the naked eye. Even after being asked the same question again, Felix did not and would not say anything more. He just kept walking with that odd sucked in lipped look. At least he would not talk about what was going on with the fleet commander. Felix would only tell him that his father was in his cabin. And that maybe he should check there first, before coming to the command center of the flagship.

Apollo was not happy with Felix. Convinced he was not getting any more information about his father, he had stormed off to his father's cabin to see what was going on with him and his ship. He was starting to smell something rotten. The only thing he saw that did not set him off, was that no one was walking around with sidearms on. Aside from that small detail, the whole crew seemed to be on edge, but it did not seem like they did not know what way to jump. It was the strangest thing he had seen or even heard about in all of the command schools he had attended.

When his father did not answer his knocking on the hatch or pushing the call button half a dozen times, Lee took things into his own hands. With a grim look that caused anyone walking in the corridor to go fleeing the other way, Lee found what he was looking for off to one side of the thick metal hatch. Lee entered the cabin using the damage control manual release lever mounted on the hatch frame.

This action was against a long list of rules and regulations of the Colonial Military, but Apollo so did not give a frak at that moment. He was worried about his father. He knew deep down in his soul that something was majorly wrong with him, and he was going to find out what it was. So Lee broke whatever regulation he felt like he needed to. After all, it was not like someone from the Colonial Fleet legal department was going to do anything to him for breaking all of those rules. Rank has its privileges as well as its responsibilities.

As soon as he could get the hatch even halfway open, he slipped through the opening. He first checked the front meeting and conference area, before proceeding into the private office and sleep areas of the cabin. His father was nowhere to be seen in those comfortable yet cramped, and normally immaculately maintained rooms.

Now those rooms were in total disarray, with items thrown about. It was like someone might have tried to vent this one room into space or something. To a point, those two sections looked like the Cylons might have made repeated bombing runs on them. Lee took the time to really look at the two rooms now that he knew his father was not there. He needed to find clues. He could not help but feel his eye go wide, and his head start to shake from side to side at the mess.

This was a major warning flag to Lee Adama. This was not like his father. William Adama was not a neat freak, but he was not a messy person by nature either. On top of that, Bill Adama hated it when items were not in their proper place in his office. And it did not matter whether that office was on a ship, or at the family home. Apollo could not remember when the last time was that he had seen his father's place like this.

As he looked around the main living and working room, he remembered all the times the older Adama had berated him for his room not even getting close to this level of a mess while he had been growing up. Then it hit him like a brick to the nose. He had seen this type of a mess only one other time before in his father's office. It had been when his father was told about his youngest son Zack. He had been killed in a Viper crash, not long after being certified. This newly remembered fact struck a nerve with the younger Adama as if he had grabbed a high voltage live wire. Lee started to frantically look for his father all over again. He knew what his father had lapsed into after receiving that news about Zack.

Now that he suspected how bad it was, it gave Lee a better idea of where he needed to look to find his elder. Apollo found his father in the shower, the first place he looked in after realizing the severity of the problem. The water was not running in the cramped but normally cozy room. Each shower, no matter what room it was in, had a built in flow timer. It was intended to keep this precious item from being wasted by an absentminded crewmember. That did not mean that this one had not been used sometime in the recent past. That was because Bill Adama was soaked to the bone, as the old saying went. It was just too bad that there was not much soap mixed in with the water.

Apollo could see his father through the narrow clear shower door, sitting on the floor propped up against one wall. When Apollo opened the clear door to access the tiny room, the first thing to hit him was the smell. Maybe it was the glass door opening that released the trapped odors. Pulling them away from the father, and directly to his son's nose. The water might have been running not too long ago, but his father stank of vomit, cheap ambrosia, and other bodily fluids intermixed with only the gods knew what. It was as close to smelling true death as a person could get without having to pay the ferryman for the privilege.

This was not a smell that Apollo had ever associated with his father, not even in those dark days after his younger brother had died. His father was only half awake as his son helped him out of his soaked and stained uniform. Lee put his half naked father onto the couch in the living room of the cabin. At first Lee was going to put his father into bed, wet clothes and all. That was until he saw what state the small bed was in. He quickly changed his mind and opted to put his father in the visibly cleaner couch instead.

Over the next few hours Lee took care of the older Adama, his living area, and his dignity as best he could. It was not something Lee would have ever thought he would have to do. He was no closer to finding out what had happened to put his father in this condition. All Lee could do was start to pick up the pieces that he could see and understand. Lee wondered why Felix and who knew how many others of the Command staff had been keeping this under wraps. Lee Adama had never been told who the Cylons that had still been in hiding had been. This meant that he had no idea why his father had self-destructed like he had.

After taking care of the worst of the mess and making sure his sleeping, well passed out, father was comfortable, Lee knew he needed to start looking at the bigger picture. He contacted his wife over on his battlestar to update her on what happened. He could only use general terms to let her know what was going on. This did not make her happy, and after the third time she asked the same question, but using different words, while he replied with the exact same ones, it seemed that finally she got the hint. He did not want to risk anyone else picking up on the details of what was going on with his father, the Admiral. He was kicking himself for not developing some kind of code system like the one his father used with key friends. He started working right away on a believable cover story that Anastasia could use to come over. One that would not draw any additional attention to the Admiral.

It took about half an hour to come up with two workable ideas, and one other that he did not want to have to resort to. Next he contacted the CIC of the Galactica to let them know that he was taking over temporary command of the Fleet as of that second. Through the handset in his hands, Lee thought he could hear the relief in the voice of the person on the other end of the horn. He had been expecting to have at least some issue with his declaration, but maybe Felix had been prepping the way for him to take over command of the fleet and its flagship. Lee made a note to check on Felix' status, rank, current assignment and anything else he could dig up. Lee knew Felix was still young, but it seemed to him that the younger officer was showing that he had skills that should be helped along. Once he got his father straightened out, he resolved to bring that up for review by the Admiral.

His next call was one that he knew he had to do, though that did not mean he wanted to do it at all. It was the call to Colonial One. Lee was able to use the secure ship to ship communication line his father had set up even before they found this planet. He was again taken by surprise when an unknown picked up on the other end. The first thing Lee noticed when Laura went on the line was that she sounded tired, harried, and depressed all at the same time.

Lee could empathize with her, but he could feel that he was missing something. He did not want to make small talk with her at this time, and got right down to business as he saw it. Lee talked to Laura, and let her know that he was taking over as the temporary military commander of the fleet. He told her twice that this was only until his father was ready again for command.

The cover story Lee pitched was that the elder Adama was sick, and not able to effectively command the fleet. He had come down with some kind of stomach virus, and could not do his job right now. At least, not without risking its spread across the bridge and crew of the flagship and maybe to other ships as well. By now all of the remaining Colonials knew how fast a sickness could spread in the contained environment of a spaceship. That seemed to him like a good cover story. One that should not have too many questions asked of it, at least not for a few days anyway. After that, who knows what might happen if the Quorum got wind that something was wrong with the Admiral.

Lee spent the next three days on the flagship. First catching up on what happened while he was gone, and at the same time working on all of the paperwork that his father had not done while he had been deep in the bottle. This was when the bombshell of the names of the people that had tested positive for being Cylons hit him almost as hard as it had his father. More importantly, they were types of human form Cylons never before knowingly seen by human eyes. Lee was so stunned that he had spent almost an hour just thinking about all that those people being Cylons.

Once he recovered, he caught a flight over to his battlestar, and updated his logs with his personal thoughts on a list of matters. When he was done, he made a copy of all of his logs. Then he sent them all to the Admiral's office for review knowing that it would be some time before his father could look them over. Or even be in the right mental state to review what he had put in those files. This bit of information finally clued Lee into why his father had gone into the bottle so hard and so fast.

Lee was lucky that the Admiral had a great staff working for him. Very few people knew that the elder Adama had been incapacitated for over a week. At least not before Lee had returned to take over the military side of operations. Working with them so closely showed Lee that he still had a lot to learn about commanding anything other than a Raptor from his father. He had also been impressed with the detailed engineering drawings Starbuck and the Earther had done while he was gone. And he had been more than a little freaked out about how they had been done in the first place. That had been a file he had had to read over and over again to understand.

Lee reviewed the plans and notes that his father had done about that project. He then went ahead and cleared the production of the needed gravity plates. The directive had been sitting waiting for Bill to sign off on since the day of the dinner party. The repair ships had completed all of the parts that had been identified as being needed to fix all of the civilian ships so far. Without the new request, they had started slowly replacing the stock of spare parts that were normally kept on hand for emergencies. All while waiting for these new orders that they knew should be coming any day. Now they could start making the gravity plates as soon as the machines were available.

This note made Lee review a second document in the stack that was on his father's desk. It seemed that most civilian ships only needed some time with a few good maintenance teams to get back in proper working order. As Lee looked down the list of parts and raw materials left on those ships, he was thinking that it was a good thing he had come back with his fleet when he had. All of the support ships were on the last of their onboard stores of raw materials and the trickle of ores coming up from the planet just did not provide enough.

They would have had just enough stock to fix the other ships, but nothing much else was going to be in their storage holds for later manufacturing. They were empty of core stock, and recycling was not pulling in enough for more than a day or two of production. That was before the ores Lee and his little fleet had found had started making their way over to the manufacturing ships. They were already starting to have an effect on the supply situation around the fleet.

The last major issue Lee had to deal with was one of the most perplexing. It was so perplexing that he had kept bumping this issue down the list of the things that had to get done. He had done this all the way until he was almost totally caught up on the backlog of paperwork and reports that had been waiting. It was a request for special handling and pick up of fifty tons of an unspecified ore from the Earthers on the surface. He had tried to find out more about what this special ore was, but it was not in any of his father's logs or notes. At least that he could find in the wreck that had been his office when Lee had found it. So he contacted the Admiral's staff, and they knew nothing of what he was asking about, either. The only ores any of them knew about were the shipments that had come off of the mining ships.

With his normal routes of inquiry either used up, or blocked, he made a call of last resort, and contacted Roslin personally on the private secure line. She was the only one that Lee could think of that might know anything about this issue after running into the brick wall in the flagship's CIC. She of all people, it turned out, knew what the special ore was and why it was special. After finding out exactly what the special cargo was, it had taken some time for what he had been told to really sink in. He was no longer surprised that his father had not made a note about it in any official file or even in any easy to find notes. If the wrong people in the fleet found out about this material, there would be questions asked that Lee knew the older Adama did not want to have to address any time soon. He had to say, he was impressed with how his father had been able to keep the lid on this one.

Lee had been looking for radioactive elements on his scouting and recovery mission. It was, in fact, one of the key materials he had been on the lookout for. It was right up there with finding more fuel for the Colonial ships. It did not take long for the ships under his command to discover that, as it turns out, this was a very young nebula. It might have been made by a very young star or a pair of close orbiting young cool stars exploding at nearly the same time.

In layman's terms it was short on the heavier elements that a nebula of this size should have in the megatons. It did not mean that they were totally missing. Only that it was going to be hard to find concentrations of those needed heavier elements. Concentrations that would have made it much easier for his mining ships to extract them.

After looking so hard across many light years for those elements, and failing, only to find out that the Earthers had what they needed to make the heavy weapons that the Colonials were so short of, only one word popped into the younger Adama's mind. Impressive. Once he had his wits about him again, Lee scheduled a cargo shuttle from one of the battlestars to pick up thirty tons of light clay, and twenty tons of raw radioactive ore. He would also have to send a message on a private channel to one of the manufacturing ships. It would need to be ready to receive the items. As well as be ready to start the long process of turning those two items into nuclear weapons for the defense of the fleet. Lee was now wishing that he had not pushed that document to the bottom of the pile. The delay was only a few days, but it was a few days that should not have been needed.

His next act as the acting Fleet Commander was one that did not have anything to do with the operation of the fleet of ships. It was a request to the Earthers for an update to be sent to him personally. He needed to know how the Cylons were doing, and if any intelligence had been gained from their interrogations. How they had been treated after being captured at the dinner party, and if they had been put somewhere hopefully safe.

Lee could not believe that Saul Tigh, his wife, and the Chief had been Cylons in hiding for so long. He had known Saul Tigh for as long as he could remember, and he could see why his father was taking it very hard. When that message was sent and confirmation of its receipt sent back, he was rocking in his father's chair, almost like he had seen his father do a hundred times in his life. That was when he noticed a page sticking out from under a file folder. It was off to one side of the working desk and had escaped his attention, so far.

When he pulled the pages out, and started reading it as he rocked in the chair, he found out that it was a report from none other than Chief Galen Tyrol. Lee was thinking that he must have submitted it just before that dinner when he was taken into custody by the Earthers. It was about his work on making a Colonial made Direct Energy Weapon that could be mounted on a Viper by using only a short list of items from the support ships. After reading the report three times, Apollo set the four page document down on the center most part of the battered desk. He spent quite a few minutes deep in thought about what it would be like to have a few Vipers with twin or triple Direct Energy Weapons mounted on them.

He was having thoughts of having weapons that hit almost as hard as a KEW, but would be moving at the speed of light. On top of that, they did not need to worry about ammunition load and recoil shaking the ships apart after too many firings. Something like that was just too amazing to truly wrap his mind around on short notice. It was a lot to think about, but the idea had come from a Cylon in hiding. So was it even true? Or was it something made up by the Cylons to waste resources that they knew the Colonials were so short of?

Apollo shook his head, and left his father's office. He took a left and headed for the main machine shop of the old warship. That was the area that had held the Chief's office and lab ever since the combined Colonial and Earther forces kicked the Cylons on New Caprica to the curb. He needed to see if this file was even close to being based in the real world.

The main machine shop was in the center area of the battlestar. It was situated so that the one shop would have the ability to support both hangar pods during both combat and peace time operations. All from one location. It was to reduce the number of cubic meters needed for the support. Now it only had one of those pods to support, but that did not diminish its importance in keeping the warship, and the small craft it carried, in fighting trim. This area of the ship had seen the most change after they had been able to get supplies from Ragnar Anchorage.

When Apollo reached the closed hatch, he first tried to listen in and see if anyone was inside the work space. It did not take long to hear not one but many voices in the machine shop behind the almost fully closed metal hatch. This was how he entered the domain of the knuckle draggers. It was a place that few low to mid-ranking officers would dare tread into without an invitation by a ship's senior enlisted person.

Apollo walked around the huge room, after closing the hatch to the rest of the ship behind him. On his newer ship, the equivalent area was where they had the machines set up to make replacement MK VII Vipers and/or the parts to fix them when they were damaged or worn out. They could not make many full up new Vipers. Even when they had the raw materials, they could turn out only a few every week, along with the spare parts to keep the rest of the Vipers they had operational. The idea was that if the battlestars could do this task, it would cut down on the number of support ships the fleet would need, both in wartime and peace.

Apollo and his father had hoped that when they were forced by Baltar to stop traveling looking for Earth, they would be able to make enough new Mk VII's, to replace all of the remaining older Mk II's that were still flying off of the flagship. It had not worked out that way. Something always seemed to come up that demanded the necessary resources. Resources that they also needed to build the new fighters.

A few of the crew recognized Apollo, and greeted him as he walked around the large room. When he made it to the end of the large room, he found the area that he was looking for. He was surprised that the area was already occupied, and it was not the Chief. The man, or Cylon, was in a prison cell somewhere planetside. Instead a small female form was sitting in the area with her back to the rest of the room.

Apollo knew who it was without needing to see her face. Just seeing the back of her head was enough. There were only so many short, female, thin, brown haired knuckle draggers on the flagship. Apollo walked up to the work table and leaned on it so that he was facing the female from her side. Now in a pose he hoped would look a little on the casual side, he waited and watched the woman sitting at the folding chair. She was flipping through what looked like hand written notes and line drawings of something he could not discern. All of them were in a standard issue Colonial military notepad with cut corners. She had to know he was there, but she was not going to make the first move. She wanted to be left alone. So after a few long seconds, it was up to the younger Adama to break the ice between them.

Apollo was looking more closely at her now, and was waiting for just the right moment. She looked a lot older than the last time he had looked at her this close. Stress had a way of ageing people, and he could tell that she would have preferred to be left alone. If the stories were true, she had been under a lot of that for some time now. Even before it was found out that her ex-husband had been a Cylon.

"So Cally, whatcha doing?" He tried to make his voice soft and playful. He hoped it would do the trick. He knew that he was a good looking guy, and he knew how to play on that advantage when he needed to. He had learned long ago how to turn the charm on. Without crossing any lines in any way.

Cally slapped the papers with the flats of both of her hands, and then with a slight turn of her head leveled red rimmed eyes at Apollo. "I was helping the Chief, after he told me about the DEW rifle he had in his hut. He was trying to find a way to turn the fly by light system, on the newer Vipers into a type of weapon like them. I was trying to finish it, but I just don't get where he was going, or how to get there from where he left off in the design!" She turned even more to put the battlestar commander in the center of her vision and see both of his eyes.

"Sir, is it true that the Chief was another frakking Cylon skinjob?" It was almost a whine as she finished putting to words what was really bothering her.

Apollo could see the look in her red rimmed eyes. She was hurting, and hurting very badly all the way down into the very core of her soul. _"How to answer this? She won't be the only one asking this question, any chance they got."_ He was betting that she was getting asked half a dozen times an hour or so herself. And then she would have to sit around the Mess Hall, another area that could give her issues. There were a lot of Colonials that could only get by by blaming someone else.

"I don't know Cally. They are running tests dirtside to find out, and to be honest, I haven't been able to go down there, and check on any of them yet, myself. As soon as I can, I will be making the trip down to find out what I can."

He pointed to the papers and the parts of an Earther Pulse Laser Rifle spread out over the work space in front of them. He could not make heads or tails of any of the items, only what it should have been from the report he had read. While he was looking at the parts covered work space, something clicked in his mind. It was a set of images that spanned the timeline from after the Cylons' attack all the way to operation Exodus.

"I was thinking about how many times the Chief came up with something that either helped get us out of a hard spot, or where he just pulled some daggit out of a hat. You know like that jump capable Stealth Viper of his. I say let them run the tests, and then we can figure out if he's a Cylon or not. We'll be able to work through whatever comes up." Lee put his right hand on her left shoulder and gave it a slight shake.

Cally pulled her small hands off of the pages to cover her face. She did not want the officer to see the tears welling up in her eyes, and were already threatening to run down her cheeks. She was not married to the Chief anymore, but somehow she still felt close to the crazy frakker.

"I can't believe that not only did I frak a toaster. I married one." Her tone went high, well higher than normal, even for her small frame. That was all it took and the tears started slowly coming out of the corner of her eyes.

Apollo could hear something in her voice, which had started to crack as her voice went high. He decided to try to defuse her line of thinking. "They were meant to look like us, Cally. Think about Colonel Tigh. Who in Hades could picture him as being a Cylon? I still have a hard time just thinking of him as being a human, much less a Cylon looking like a human. How the frak do you think they handle his pickled liver anyway?" Colonel Tigh was known to have a list of character faults as long as your arm and the idea that he might be a machine was still very strange to Lee Adama. These people had had some time to think about it. It was still new to him.

Apollo was rewarded with a giggling fit from the woman, which made her face look ten years younger. At least compared to what she had looked like when Lee had first leaned against the worktable. Cally had been known to wet herself when she went into a strong enough giggling fit. Apollo did not know what started him laughing first. The thought of a Cylon with a pickled liver, or Cally's giggling fit two feet away from him. It was good for both of them. It also was good for the rest of the people in the room to see the acting commander taking care of one of the crewmembers. Especially one who was showing all the signs of severe emotional distress.

After a couple of minutes of venting, Apollo was watching people move around the repair shop out of the corner of his eyes. He could tell that they were glancing over at the two at the worktable, and he thought he could tell that they had picked up on the improved mood of the two people at this edge of the room. It would not take that long, and soon it would be helping with their mood also. It was a feedback loop of emotions, and it was a common thing to happen on any ship going back all the way to the age of blue water sail. A few good moods or a few people in a bad mood, both can have a massive impact on those around them in a confined space.

 _"Well, better get back to work,"_ thought Apollo to himself. Now that he was feeling a bit better inside he could feel a real, but slight, smile come to his face. He knew that he was not as good as his father was at controlling his face, so he did not even try. "Cally, keep at it. If you can figure out a way for us to make DEW's of our own... Well, it could be a game changer the next time we run into any Cylon Raiders. I just hope that we can make enough of them to make a difference if that happens."

* * *

Bill Adama reached over and stopped the image playing on the computer screen. With a press of a button the images stopped, and so did the voices. Very few people knew it, but Damage Control had installed remote cameras and microphones around the common areas of the ship. They were in all of the major or larger rooms in the battlestar. It was intended to help with crowd control, back when the ship was going to be a museum. Now it had other uses that had already proven very useful to the flagship's commander. Bill had been able to review his son's movements around the battlestar, and hear what was said to the different members of his crew with pretty good clarity. It made Bill smile a little more.

After his son had pulled him out of the shower, the senior Adama had taken some time to get his mental faculties to start working again. It was a little over a week before he was ready or able to get back in the saddle. It was a relief for him to know that he had his son to fall back on if, or when, he was incapacitated in the future. Just the idea that he had back up made his life a little less stressful. Bill made a note that he needed to start working on Apollo's combat fleet management skills next. After all, it was not like Lee was going to be able to go to command school back on Caprica to get those skills developed. It would have to wait for a while, and he needed to work up two new battlestar commanders. At some point in the future, he needed to be just the Fleet commander, and have someone else handle the Old Girl for him.

Apollo, his battlestar, and the mining ships had all left the system again a few days ago. All of the raw materials and ores had been shifted over to the factory ships. The impressive amount of excess ores had been put in one of the less full bulk cargo carriers for temporary storage. It would stay there until they had room on the ships that would make things out of the different refined ingots. Bill thought it was a nice issue to have to deal with for once. It was rare to have an overabundance of anything after the Cylon attack.

One of the prized high points had been the news about what the Pegasus had been doing out in deep space. While Apollo's fleet had been mining and filling their holds, enough material had been transshipped to the Viper production line inside the massive battlestar. Now with this overwhelming supply of ores, the production line had been running at full capacity. When they come back from this trip to one of the thicker nodes of the Nebula, one they had found could provide all they needed, they would be able to replace all of the Viper Mk VII's lost in the last battle with new built craft, or restore all craft that were previously grounded due to lack of parts. They would still be short on pilots, but they would have replaced the rides they had lost.

Next they would be working on after a week or two was to replenish their supplies of spare parts for those craft on the Pegasus. That was also good news, because now Lee could start sending over any extra Viper Mk VII's to the flagship, so that she too could replace her combat loses. The hold up now was the number of fully qualified trainees to fly the replacement craft.

Right now the plan was to start to slowly shift the Mk II's over to the Training school, but only as soon as Bill got the hoped for new Mk VII's for the current Mk II pilots. He was also hoping that Starbuck could take over the job of flight instructor again, once she got her head back on straight. Right now she was drinking, gambling, and having the occasional bar fight or three. All with almost no sleep since word had gotten out that her husband might be a human form Cylon. The older Adama had seen this type of behavior before from Kara Thrace.

That was when his youngest son Zack, was killed in a Viper crash. It was just how she worked through her version of the grieving process. He just hoped that she would not kill someone before she came out of it. At least on this planet he did not have to worry about her getting behind the wheel of a car and wrapping it around a tree. The other bit of good news was that she was still winning more at the tables than she lost at those same tables. It was not by the amount he had hoped for, but it still was a positive number in the books. She had also sent up other physical items that she had won or traded for. He was going to give her another week before having a sit down with her and talk about what happened to them both. They would have to try to work out what she might be able to do about it. He had already been able to replace the funds that he had put up to get her started almost totally. Even if she tanked at this point, he could point to those physical items as collateral for the outstanding balance.

* * *

Bill had flown down and talked with Saul Tigh after he had worked through the shock of finding out that his best friend was a Cylon. Each of the five human form Cylons was in a different cell when he had paid a them visit. The Earthers did not want to risk them killing each other, and this was their way of reducing that risk. Each of the five cells was in a common room, so they all could see and talk to each other through the metal bars of the holding cells. They were just out of arm's reach from each other, and any wall of the building. Bill had stopped in the control room that was keeping an eye on them to receive an update from the team leader that was currently stationed there.

When Adama had stopped by to visit the human like Cylons, they had all looked like they were visibly depressed even to him. Most were just sitting on the thin beds. Well, except for Saul's wife, that is. She was frakking mad as Hades and was pacing around her cell like a lioness in a cage with a toothache. Bill would say she was both types of mad in his book. Both the angry and crazy kinds. She had started ranting and raving the second she recognized the older Adama.

He had only been about three steps into the main room of the small prison when she demanded in her loud screeching voice that he make Earthers let them go. After that, she went into full blown crazy mode. Ranting that all of this must be some kind of plan cooked up by Laura Roslin to get back at her for some reason. Bill made a note to see if they had something to calm her down later. Maybe the same drug they had used to capture them in the first place could be used. Anything to shut the crazy frakking Cylon up for a few hours would be helpful.

Adama had to stay at the far corner of the cell to put the most space between him and her. With great care, Adama walked along the edge of the room to get to the next cell. It was the cell that held her husband, Saul. Saul had to put his back to his wife, so that they could hear themselves think or talk to each other. When Bill finally was able to get a good look at Saul, he almost missed a step. Saul had sunken eyes that were red rimmed, and had huge bags under them. Bill figured they were from lack of sleep. They could also be from something that ran a lot deeper than that. He looked like he had lost at least a dozen pounds in the less than three weeks that he had been detained along with the other four.

Bill knew from his briefings that food was regularly being dropped off into each cell. This was done three times a day, and the food was not in small portions. It was just that most of the Cylons in the cells were not in a mood to eat. Bill also knew from a doctor's report that Saul had gone through what would have been called in a human a very brutal case of _Delirium Tremens_ from the alcohol withdrawal. This was causing some confusion among both the Earther and Colonial security officers. Why would the Cylons make human forms that could become hooked on something like drinking an intoxicant?

After checking out Saul from a closer vantage point, Bill was concerned. When Bill asked him about being a Cylon, he just shook his head and said that he did not know if he was one or not. The Earthers had shown the Cylons in hiding all the body scans, and showed them what a normal human should look like through one of those scans. He simply professed that he was not fighting for, or with, the Cylons in any way, shape or form. He just wanted to protect his people, the people in the fleet, and kill every Cylon he could find. At that point, Bill felt something inside him start to feel for the human like Cylon that had the face of his longtime friend. Adama had a lot to think about now after talking to his ex-friend and fellow officer of the Colonial Fleet. Bill and Saul spent almost half an hour talking, before Bill had to leave to go to another meeting.

Bill was overworked covering both his job and the tasks that Colonel Tigh had been doing for so long. He had been training Helo as his XO after Saul had 'retired'. Now he was gone also, leaving Bill to carry the load of both jobs, as well as the position of Fleet Commander. He also knew that Roslin was being overwhelmed without Tory on her staff anymore. Both Adama and Roslin were now thinking about trying to work out a way to bring those two back to work, but the kicker was how to do so and be safe at the same time. Safe had to cover both the physical and political aspects. That, or at least manageable with a high pay off for the short term risk.

Bill was thinking about how much the Cylon now known as Athena had helped him, and in turn the whole fleet in general. In the military, that could be seen as a precedent being set for bringing back Saul Tigh to a job that he both knew and was very good at. It was another hot rock to juggle with all the other bombs that the pair of them had in the air at all times.

Adama smiled to himself. That was not the only new hot rock that Laura had to deal with lately. The Earthers had something in the works. It was not a big secret, but they also were not screaming it out loud either. Somehow word had leaked out to what remained of the Colonial press, who then felt that they should tell everyone else about it. The Earther leaders were readying the ocean going warship for a mission. It was to go to the location where they say the dimensional rift had dropped them onto this planet all those years ago. When pressed by the media, they had explained that they had an annual event where they would go to that location. They would run checks and do any maintenance that might be required on the marker that they had left out there. They would be out of port, and the protected bay, for about three days in total. That was unless something major needed to be done to the device that they had left in the open ocean. In that case they could be out of port for as long as a week. It had happened before. That statement had been like dumping refined Tylium on a fire.

When word about this mission made it to some of the more narrow minded members of the civilian population, it caused some more issues. When it was brought up to the Leadership by a member of the Colonial press in a meeting being held in Warehouse One, the response was, "you don't have to come along, if you don't want to." When the busybody had pushed the issue he had been told that if he did not like it, he was free to stay in his own spaceship until the Earthers get back.

What the press really could not get their heads around was how could someone think that working on a sensor pod in the middle of the ocean could be almost a religious event. It was beyond even the older Adama's ability to reason. In response to the news of the event, Bill just added this information to the long list of things Colonials did not understand about the people from this strange planet they called home.

The Settlement offered to let Colonials come along on the mission and a few took them up on it. Bill Adama, for one, took them up on the offer and submitted his name to be added to the list of people who were interested in taking a ride with the ship. He wanted to see the sensors that were supposed to be able to detect an event like what they had talked about for some time now. He wanted to see how one worked, even if it was only in theory. He was hoping that maybe he could learn something that he might be able use against the Cylons later.

The Quorum was not happy that the Admiral would be off his ship at a time when the other battlestar was gone on another mission. So Bill had to ask the Earther leadership if he could keep a Raptor on the Earther ship, in case of a Cylon surprise attack of some kind. It was with some surprise to his staff that the request was granted, along with a copy of the itinerary provided. It would seem that either Captain Kelly had expected something like this, or maybe someone on his staff had anticipated it. The real eye opener was the question sent to the flagship's CIC in a private note. They wanted to know if they needed to set aside a room for the Colonial President also. After Laura got a good laugh out of the note, she replied that no, she would not be coming along with Bill on the trip.

The second of the new hot rocks that she had to deal with was how to even out the trade gap that had developed over the last month between the two groups. Adama had decided that the Raptor would be signed over along with a small support package to the Earthers, just as they had asked for. They would have to buy any repair parts and fuel from the Colonial military to keep it flying for any length of time, but they already had Colonials who had taken Earther citizenship. It was enough for them to have the support manpower issue covered and maintaining the complicated machine taken care of.

The Raptor to be turned over was one of the highest flight hour birds still in operation within the fleet. She had been well maintained, just like any of the other Raptors that the two battlestars still had. So she was as safe as any of the others the Colonials were still flying to do whatever mission that needed to be done.

It was amazing what happens to a bank ledger when a few million cubits worth of material changes hands. All with a simple swipe of a pen on that ledger between the two groups. The Earthers now owed the Colonial Fleet a lot more of the armor plate than they were turning out any time soon. It was very nice to be on the other side of the red line for a change. Bill had to fight down a chuckle at that thought. He had had to deal with a lot more of the logistical side of things than when there had been a full Colonial Fleet around. _"I really need to add to my staff as the Fleet Commander,"_ he thought.

Another hot rock had been when word had leaked out that the Earthers had found, and were supplying, the materials for nuclear weapons. Laura and Bill had tried to track it down, and now knew that the leak had not come from the Galactica or Colonial One. Bill thought it had come from someone visiting one of the ships that had been set up to do the work of making the devices. That had set off a small nuke in the Quorum all by itself.

Somehow they thought the weapons were being made for the Earthers use and not the Colonial Fleet. So Roslin told them the whole story, and the conditions of the trade for the raw ores that had been quietly shipped up to the ships in orbit. One would think that this would quiet down the issue. It did not. It seemed to only make the Quorum even angrier with her and him.

The Quorum, very publicly led by Tom Zarek, had tried to demand that they should have been the ones to make that decision or treaty and not Adama or Laura. It was their opinion that the pair did not have the authority to give those types of weapons away on what they were calling a whim. She took the last comment first, and cited a reference that had happened during the First Cylon War when a previous President of the Colonies had sent nuclear weapons to the then independent colony of Tauron. Tauron at the time was fighting off waves of invading Cylons alone.

That had been a good solid hit, made in the same very public meeting. However she had only gotten them to back completely off the subject when she asked them if they wanted her to stop the trade. Did they want to stop the flow of those materials needed by their people to make the ship killing weapons? Oh and they were the only source of the items that they all knew were in short supply. She told them that she had already talked to the Earthers. They would stop all ores coming up to the fleet if they wanted to void the good faith agreement that had been made. When Laura held up a copy of the message, it stopped the Quorum dead in their mental tracks like a brick hitting a battlestar. The message was not quite what it seemed, actually, but no one was viewing the image. No one could read what the message actually said.

Zarek was not happy with losing again, and it was showing on his face. He was losing his political grip on things, and he could not hide it from showing on his face anymore. The ship that was working on the final processing of the materials was kept very secret, after what happened to Cloud 9. That meant that even most of the Quorum did not know where they were being worked on and the name had not been used during the whole meeting.

After they had agreed to keep to the agreement that Bill had worked out, Laura gave them a more complete update on the project. She did read the report to the Quorum, that the processing center did have a full load of the Lithium rich clay, and that they would not need more for some time. What she did not tell them was that they had enough fissionable ore already in orbit to make the first capital scale weapon. It would take some more time to process, but they had more room for that type of ore than the light, fine, and wet clay ores. That had caused such a mess on the ship that it was decided that the light ores would be processed first into the much smaller amount of Tritium those heavy weapons needed.

Adama had told Laura in private, after the meeting, that he would slag the fissionable ores and weld them on the outside of his ship if he had to. Anything to make sure they had enough of it for as many of those powerful weapons as he could get his hands on. Laura thought that it was only a slight exaggeration on the Admiral's part. The truth was that Bill had already planned out three places where it would be safe enough to store something as dangerous as mostly refined weapons grade radioactive ore.

The last new hot rock had come from his son Apollo's actions on that first mining mission out system. One of the areas the Pegasus and her little fleet had scouted had turned out to possess high value metals running in nice veins through the free floating asteroids. Apollo had let the mining ships make test pulls from those rocks as a way to test the equipment. Those test runs had pulled back a few tons of silver, gold and even some platinum group metals in those short runs. When Apollo had found out how much of the metal had been pulled not long afterwards he had been shocked. He had quickly moved to seize all of metal from the mining ships. He had even had to put a handful of armed marines on the mining ship to do it. In the end the ship's captain had relented, and turned the items over to him.

The metals in question had been very painstakingly inventoried, and placed in an empty ammunition bunker on Lee's battlestar. After all of the 'normal' raw materials had been transferred to the needed ships upon his return to the rest of the fleet, the other metals had been turned over to Laura's control, because Lee knew that it was going to be a political bomb. He had seen the problem, and had come up with what he hoped was the best way to defuse a huge issue coming over the horizon like a storm. Until someone came up with a plan to handle this issue, he was not going to let any one group get a stockpile of the precious metals.

* * *

While Lee had been taking care of Bill and substituting as fleet commander, Laura had returned all of the platinum group metals to the mining ship's captain. She had kept all of the gold and silver ore, though. When that ship's captain had complained in a private meeting on Colonial One about the poor treatment and lost property, she had told him that next time he could scout around the nebula on his own, if he would like. She had asked how much of a cut he would get if the Cylons found him alone without an escort while he was mining on some rock. The captain had capitulated, but did get in writing the terms for any more materials of this kind that his ship or any of the other mining ships might find in the future. What had sealed the deal was Laura's reply at being asked about what she was going to do with all the silver and gold.

Laura, as it turns out, had gotten the idea from how Starbuck's operation had been going on the planet's surface. She was now working closely with her vice president Wallace Grey, who had taken the post after Zarek stepped down. After being part of the debacle that was Baltar's administration, the former terrorist had balked at rejoining the executive branch even after Roslin offered the post. He had opted to return to the Quorum as Sagittaron representative instead, freeing Laura appoint her own pick. It was just as well, as Grey was a highly trained and highly skilled economist and had been Roslin's pick for the position from the start.

The mining ship's commander did like the idea of finally having real cubits to trade around again. Right now the silver was being refined to around ninety percent purity. After all of the raw metal had been refined to that level of purity, they hoped to have the machines and stamps tested, and be ready to start putting new silver and gold cubits into circulation around the fleet. The first set of new oddly cut cubits would use the same design as had been in use before this new war had started. It was hoped that this would cause the least amount of confusion, as they did their first few test runs of the new physical coins.

Laura hoped to launch a design contest sometime down the road. Perhaps sometime after they had left this system behind them. She wanted a set of new designs, and then somehow work out a way to rotate different looking stamped out cubits every few years for those new coins. The contest should work nicely in distracting a large number of the people with in the fleet. The new cubits should give a kick start to getting an economy of some kind going again among their people. Bill just liked the idea that he would be able to really pay his people once again.

Some of the other members of the Quorum had wanted the Colonial government to just print money on paper and use that as tender like they had done before the war. They pitched it as being more normal for their people to deal with. Bill did not like that idea one bit, and he had to fight from letting it show on his face during the meeting when it was brought back up. Bill knew that certain members of the Quorum still had huge caches of printed and now worthless paper cubits stashed around their cabins. At least it was huge compared to what most people in the fleet had access to now. It they started printing paper money again, those few would have a huge advantage over almost everyone else in the fleet... combined. Bill and Laura shot the notion down very quickly with every reason they could think of short of outright stating that one. After the first time this had come up in a meeting, Laura just kept them in the dark about any moves, one way or the other, regarding those new cubits that were about to be available to their people. As more silver and gold make it into the people's hands the lower the trade value of those coins would be. They wanted only to slowly lower that value, so as to hurt the fewest people.

When the full Quorum found out about the size of the metals cache that Lee had brought in, it was brought up to Laura in not such a nice way. Each of the twelve different representatives wanted it to be up to them to give out and make the new metal cubits. Now that metal was in the fleet, it was blood in the water and each of the representatives took turns attacking another. In one of the few meetings, Laura did not even have to say that much in defense of her actions. Many hours went by before it came up to a vote among the now well scared sharks that were the political leaders. The only motion to pass that day was that the flagship would control the minting of any new cubits that were to be made, no matter what group that might end up in control of the distribution.

As Laura had pointed out, the Earthers already had a posted and widely accepted exchange value for the metals the cubits were going to be made of. This would make it easier for the Colonials and they could just use that to set the value for the cubits they were going to make. Adama hoped to be handing out the first hundred new silver cubits in a few days. To keep from flooding the market any more than the rumor about the amount of silver and gold in the bunker had got a lot of tongues wagging, only a few cubits would be given out each day and split up across the whole fleet both in the air, on the ground, or hiding under the water. That would change in the near future, but it was the best way they could think of to start off the changeover to the new currency.

* * *

Adama reread all of his logs and made some changes in a few places, but for the most part they would stay the way as he had first written them out. He had to make a few last minutes changes, but overall he was happy with the way the logs had turned out. This would be his last review, until the logs with these dates were stored for the archived records. Laura had reminded him one day, not long ago, that eventually the Quorum was going to enforce the law that was passed a few years before the Cylons' surprise attack.

The law in question made public all of the logbooks of all senior fleet officers after only five years of being in archived storage. Bill had agreed with a lot of the Fleet's officers back when the law was first passed that it was a very bad idea. But it was now the law, and unless he forced a change, it would stay on the books for the foreseeable future. He had just shut the log taking program off, when an alarm notified him that he needed to leave to catch the Raptor scheduled to go down to the planet's surface.


	5. Chapter 5 time on the water

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

Yes, I have been trying to keep the chapter shorter to keep the work load on my proof reader.

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

Feb 2018

 **Chapter 5 Time on the Water**

It would be the first time that Bill Adama knew of for a Mark II Raptor to land on a blue water ship. Much less one that was still moving, and on an open body of water of any kind to boot. He hoped the Agathons were up to the task they were assigned to do for today.

The last was just a fleeting thought that moved at the speed of light through Bill Adama's mind. He knew very well that both of them were very competent pilots no matter what they might be in control of, so there should not be any issues. Even with the novel landing approach that this mission mandated.

A few hours later the Colonial turned Earther owned Raptor broke through the mid-level cloud cover over the grey waves of the open ocean. Adama could tell that the Number Eight also called Sharon, now dubbed Athena by the Earthers, was happy to be behind the controls of a Raptor once more. From what he had been told, she was also being trained in what they called a SAMAS flying combat suit, and something called a SkyCycle.

The older Adama had seen images of the strange, not quite human looking suits with wings before. Thinking of one of the weapon systems brought its specifications to his mind. It was armed with what the Earthers called a rail gun and a small missile launcher. He was wondering how she was going to transition to something that could only fly about a hundred and fifty meters off the ground, and top out at less than five hundred kilometers per hour. One would think that something like that might be a step down from being in control of a ship that could travel from a planet's surface all the way to a different star.

Then again, he bet that it could do a number on the Cylons in whole job lots. And she might be looking for the challenge of learning something new. He knew that someone on his staff would have information on what a Sky Cycle might be. He had only been updated on it about ten minutes before he climbed up the wing of the craft.

Bill could not put his finger on why he was disturbed by those types of machines when he first read the reports on them. It could have been any number of things that elicited that response out of him. Anything from their vague resemblance to Cylons, to the black color, to even the helmets that looked a lot like bare human skulls made of metal. All of those things together just seemed wrong for a combat weapon system in his eyes. It made the weapon system look like something that could be on some kind of entertainment show rather than something used to kill things in real life.

He had asked some of the Earthers about the motif that was present on so much of the equipment they were using. They had told him that it was just how the Coalition States liked to do things with the weapons they made. Some had said that it might be so that it would intimidate any enemies both on and off the battlefield back on their home planet. Bill did not know about how intimidating it might be, but it was sure strange to his eyes.

On second thought, just the idea of them made him uncomfortable. Under the stress of combat, it just might be effective in the intimidation arena after all.

Strapped in next to the pilot, Bill leaned forward to get a better view. He was able to look out the small craft's massive forward canopy now that they were clear of the cloud cover so common on this planet. They were still high enough that he could not see the large ship on the ocean below them. Not with just his old eyes and still arguably sharp mind.

What he could see from their current altitude was a massively long chevron of disturbed water pointing to a single spot at the tip. As the small craft closed on that single point, the ship appeared. As Bill watched, the ship got bigger and bigger until he could see the weapons turrets the ship's bow and the row of weapons behind the bridge. Soon after that, he could start seeing dots moving around the deck of the large ship. As they slowly closed on the water bound ship, he could make out more and more of the smaller details.

Bill had never seen something that big moving over the water and waves. But when the pilot lined up to make an approach on the H shaped mark that was in the center of a white circle almost dead center of the ship, it no longer seemed so big from his point of view. And now Adama started to worry about what he knew was still to come. Athena made two approaches, but was waved off by someone on the back of the tower like structure on the ship that also held its brains and commander. The older Adama had no idea what Athena did differently next, but on the third try, she was able to put the Raptor in the dead center of the black letter H, and started powering down her systems with the assurance of many years of experience. Bill was very impressed, and he should know, having been a very skilled Raptor pilot in his day. He was about to praise the pilot when her husband and the father of her child beat him to the punch.

"Athena. Great job, Honey! You're the first person to land a Raptor on the Revenge while she was still under power!" Helo was brimming with pride at what his wife had just done. It was always great when you were the first person to do something. Well, to do it and live to tell others about it later. That, and praising his wife, was always a good thing. You never know, it might lead to a sibling for Hera to have someday. Helo always liked doing two things at once when he could get away with it.

Bill looked at both of them, and kept his face very stoic. "She did more than that, Helo. She did the first landing of a Raptor on a moving ship over water ever on record in the Colonial Fleet. This is one for the record books, and not just her log book. Athena, that was a very good bit of first rate flying you did today." As he spoke, he gave the female Cylon a slight bow of his head. It was to show that he was serious with the praise he had just given her.

The Cylon Number Eight, now known as Athena Agathon among the fighters of the newly adopted group, also now had her helmet off and looked at her old Colonial commander. All three of them were in Colonial standard flight gear. The only differences were a few patches of cloth or colors attached to the bronze colored material. She was surprised by the praise coming from the Admiral, and her eyes went wide as she processed his statement in her Cylon augmented mind. He had been open and even friendly to her ever since her child had been returned to her. But she had thought, deep down, that he was just playing some kind of game with her. It was that, or more to the point, a game that was being played against her family.

Now she was not so sure about her thinking. The Old Man did not give praise often, and never when it was not well worth the oxygen he was going to be using to give it. She quickly decided to just enjoy the moment, and stop overthinking it for now.

"Really? The first time ever? Are you sure about that, Sir?" She felt herself get wide eyed, like a rookie pilot on her first successful trap in a hangar bay. She could even feel a little blood rush to her cheeks.

Adama let a mid-sized smile cross his very battered face. "I started looking it up when Triumvirate asked me about buying or trading them a Raptor and Viper for the armor plates we needed. I figured they would try to fly one off one of their ships, so I wanted to see if it was even possible to do. As far as I can tell, it has never been done before. That is, until today, and by you." Bill tipped his head a little into an almost bow.

Bill got a lost look in his eyes, as he went back to another war, a long time ago. "I remember when they did the landing qualification on this version of the Raptor. It took them all day to stick the landing pad on a battlestar, even with the meatball in full operation. And I could not tell you how many times they were waved off the approach, before finally getting the landing right. I would call what you did an impressive show of piloting skill on a Raptor, Athena."

Bill was looking at her right in the eyes again, and the corners on both sides of his mouth turned slightly upwards. "Just don't let Starbuck know that I said it out loud. She might try to challenge you to a fly off or something equally frakking dumb. And you both might wind up dead, and cracking up two Raptors we can't replace."

Athena blinked a few times, and then smiled at her old commander. "Thank you Sir, and I won't tell anybody. That is if you don't." She wagged her finger at her husband. "And you. Don't you run and go flapping your lips at the Gambling Hall when we get back. I'm not kidding or the only red you will be seeing anytime soon is your blood on the living room floor."

Adama was watching the interplay between the two parents that, for now, seemed a lot younger than they were. Athena was still sitting in the pilot's bucket, but she had her hands on her hips. He had no idea what she was talking about when she mentioned the color red. It must have been something interesting, because Helo just turned four shades of red. That was before his face started getting a purple tone, and he finally sputtered out his pledge not to say a word to anyone. Then Helo shot Bill a sheepish look, like a kid that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar by his mother.

Adama smiled at the ECO, but he did not ask the question that was starting to peek around a corner of his brain. He just stood, grabbed his flight bag, and did not say a word in reply. Bill hit the button to open the hatch himself. But he stopped in mid step, before fully exiting the ex-Colonial craft. "Athena, I hope you enjoy your new toy. Try not to break her too quickly. Your new bosses might not like that too much. Parts are very hard to come by, and they are not going to be cheap for anyone to acquire."

He exited the craft before they could say anything back. As soon as he had stepped off the wing he started going up a set of metal steps on a ladder that should lead him to the bridge and command center of the ship. While he was moving he made sure to keep his game face on as soon as he put his right foot on the first metal rung.

* * *

The Neptune's Revenge was moving at almost thirty knots through the water like a knife of the gods. She was pushing a lot of air around her metal hull as she did it. This might be the last time that she would act as she had been built to, and her captain was going to let her stretch her legs. At least as much as he could get away with. Adama knew exactly how Captain Kelly felt. He had felt the same way when he was taking his pride and joy, the Galactica, on her last run in open space, before being turned into some tourist attraction around one of his people's key planets.

The metal ship's deck went around a tower like section of the ship, and was filled with people standing out in the wind. The crowd was made up of both Earthers and Colonials, and it was equally a novel experience for them all. No sooner had Adama cleared the metal stairs when he was greeted by members of both groups of people. Anyone who could have wrangled a cabin for this last trip out in open water for the great warship had done so.

Adama was just another passenger on this cruse, but he was also a VIP. So he could make it past a stern looking guard standing at a closed hatch, and enter the bridge of the converted warship. It was strange to see all the stations manned and active for the first time. Adama could see the professionalism in the crew as they went about their jobs around the bridge.

Even if the ship was not on a war footing, this was just the way that they were supposed to work. The only distraction was when someone called out a sighting report of one of the massive animals. The ones that lived out in the deeps of the salt oceans of this planet. Adama knew that they would be trying to catch more meat to store for the upcoming long trip, but that would be some time later. There was no way that they could fish right now. Not at the speed this ship was moving through the water anyway.

After a while, Adama was given an escort to the mess hall for a quick meal. He had no idea what a 'pizza' was, but the dagger shaped open topped sandwich was very good. After that and another large glass of juice, he was escorted back up to the command center. Adama had just returned to the bridge when someone called out an alert to the rest of bridge personnel.

"Captain we are three miles from the buoy, and closing fast." The call out had been in a mix of English and Caprican that was slowly becoming the standard in the fleet of ships.

Captain Kelly was not near the plotting table. He was looking out an open window that let the cold, salty sea breeze into the room that was the bridge. Kelly had heard the notification, but he was trying to delay what needed to be done as long as he could. However, he was too much of a professional to wool gather for too long and jeopardize the overall mission. He also did not want to make his crew look bad in front of all of these VIP's that were currently trespassing on his ship.

"Signal the engine room to cut power to steerage level only. Helm, I want to coast in, but please don't run over our marker, if you please. We want to be able to keep it for later." Kelly had not turned at all, and he did not shift so that his crew could hear those orders.

Adama watched as crewmembers pushed buttons that he had no idea what the purposes of were, but soon he could feel an odd change in the ship. It was subtle, but he could tell that the ship was slowing down. Some of the different audio and physical vibrations became somewhat less. The water's drag was already starting to have a telling effect on the long and deep metal hull. After a few minutes, he could also feel the wind slowing as it came through the still open window. Everyone was looking out the forward windows, some with field glasses, others without. Two things crossed Bill Adama's mind at about the same time. First, he wondered what everyone was looking at. Second, he wondered how they were going to rig all of those glass windows for when they got this ship into orbit. Spaceships' windows were particularly designed for a reason.

Adama saw what looked like field glasses on a ledge that was sticking out of the base of one of the large windows that was not being used. He thought he would try to see what was going on outside of the vessel like everyone else, and walked over to them. On closer look of the unused device, they seemed like a very nice set that could be used for bird watching or something similar. When he put them up to his face, they proved to have a few hidden surprises that a novice user might not have noticed. He was a little surprised when the field glasses started to vibrate in his hands. They had zoomed out without him doing anything beyond hold the off green colored devices near his eyes. In a few heart beats he could see a strange off white and pill shaped object lazily bobbing up and down in the gray water ahead of them. It also was off to one side of the ship, while the ship's bow was angled to the other side.

A range finder built into the device was counting down a set of numbers at the edge of his field of view. It was perfectly placed to give information, but not interfere with what he was looking at. This let Bill know that they were getting closer to the marker, but the numbers were starting to change more slowly as they counted down. The ship was losing speed as it got closer to what must be the target for this mission. Then the bow of the ship shifted to one side a little more, and the ship slowed even more. It was just as the pill shaped object slid very close by one side of the ship that Bill could no longer help himself, and exited the bridge to get a better look at what was going on around the ship. He might not know much about an ocean ship's operation, but he did know about how a crew could work together.

When the warship's center was only about sixty meters from the floating object, it came to what near as anyone could tell was a complete stop. Adama had expected to see one of the super massive metal anchors be dropped into the water, but that did not happen. He did see water turning around the long waterbound ship's bow and stern. When he checked the displays at a few of the bridge's stations, he saw icons that looked like small propellers near where he thought the moving water was relative to the ship. He quickly worked out that they must have been some kind of directional thrusters. It seemed that they could keep the ship within a few centimeters of a set point on the ocean, no matter what the wind or wave action might cause. Bill could not help but be impressed with both the design, and the idea behind them. They seemed to have the same effect as the RCS systems on the Raptors and other space based ships.

From this new vantage point, the Colonial was able to watch the Earthers launch two different types of undersea vessels from the large surface ship. All while the ship hovered in one spot near the sea buoy bobbing in the waves. One of the odd little craft had locomotion tracks on its bottom. The other one looked more like a Viper than any type of submarine Bill had ever seen before. In seconds both craft were gone from sight. When Bill returned to the inside of the bridge, the plotting table had two new green dots displayed on it. The bridge crew and the crews of the subsurface craft were doing a complex dance that Bill suspected they had done before.

Adama was reading the operation plans for the rest of the day. It took some time to work through the document, but he had the time today. It felt good not to be the one in the command seat for a while. The only thing he had to do was to stand to one side and watch what was going on around him. The plan the Earthers had put together said that they were going to pull the data off of the floating buoy first. After pulling the data, they were going to take the time to read it and evaluate it on the spot. It would not be studied in any depth, there was not enough time and personnel to do that right now. If it had detected what they called a 'rift', or for that matter anything that might lead them to think it might be coming back soon, then they would start the plan's next phase. This next phase would involve using that data to get back to their Earth, and they would take the Colonials with them. That is, if they could find the right rift. But with the Cylons' impending return to the planet, they might just settle for a near enough planet.

On the other hand, if it came back blank of usable data or no sign of this rift that they were hoping for, they were going to retrieve the old buoy for that location and replace it with a fresh one from the back of the massive ship. They were also going to leave some key information for anyone else who might come to this world, same as they had done all of those years ago. They wanted to make sure that any newcomers would survive the experience. They would have a nice head start on knowing what was waiting for them on this planet, hints on where help might be, as well as warnings about all threats that might be waiting for them.

Bill thought it was a risk, but it was not his plan, his resources, or more importantly, his time. He was of the considered opinion that the only ones that might find this marker would be the Cylons. Then again, all of his ships had been looking for any signs of these people after first finding out about them. They had not found this floating marker out in the middle of this grey sea, and they had known that it was out here somewhere. All they had to do was find it. None of the Colonial ships had.

The plan was that they would leave general directions to the settlement they had set up in the protected bay. The whole area would be left behind basically intact, so that if anyone from their world ever came through the blue energy rift, they would have a place set up for them as a starting point. From their experience, they knew that it was going to be a long wait for them to be able to leave again. The walls, harbor, and homes, some with the growing houses, would still be set up when the Earthers left. All any newcomers to this world would need to do was plant and power them up with any E-Clip they might have. It was a risk, but it was not likely that the Cylons would find the buoy or the Settlement.

The buoy did not have an active transmitter, not even the radio type that the Earthers used. And so far, the Cylons had not found out about them yet. The buoy would only transmit a homing signal when certain electronic signatures were picked up by its short ranged passive systems. Once that happened, the buoy would activate the built in beacon. It would only take a few seconds for a download to happen when the new comers were close enough.

The download would contain the story of this group, and everything that they knew about this planet. Some things would be missing from the download, just in case whoever came through the rift was not nice. The most complete data would be the information related to what they knew about the Colonials and Cylons. It would also have all the information about the Cylons, including the human forms complete with images of each of them, as well as information about armor and weapons that the Cylons were known to have used both on the planet and against the Colonials. It was hoped that this information would help any of those others who might be unlucky enough to run into the Cylons after they made it to this cold world. It was a fine line between helping, and not wanting to help the wrong type of people too much. Only time would tell if this ideal had been successful or not.

While Bill was watching the deck crew of the ship go about whatever it was that they were doing, he was lost in deep thoughts. His thoughts were not on any one topic. He was just trying to work out what the future might hold for both his people and these Earthers. Especially now that they seemed destined to join his rag tag fleet in fleeing the Cylon war machine currently hunting them. He was brought back to the real word by a single word. One he would not have expected to hear from any Earther's mouth.

Bill turned around at the sound of the word 'frak' uttered by a voice that was not Colonial. Bill saw the one of the bridge crew looking up from her own console, and shake her head in what Bill knew was a negative motion to Captain Kelly. Now he knew who had used the Colonial word. Bill was betting that they had even used it correctly.

Kelly did not need to be told what had caused the outburst from the data retrieval station. The look told him most of what he needed to know. Kelly reached over, and pulled up a push to talk radio. "Deck Boss, we are going to have to pull it all up." He released the button and looked at Bill Adama. "Looks like we'll have to do this the hard way after all, Admiral."

While the crew and passengers on the surface ship watched the gray waves roll across the water, the Sandfish class submarine made its way to, and then down, the buoy's anchor chain. The submarine crews knew their jobs, and they would send updates that were broadcast to the whole deck crew. When those two small ships were on station, the crews separated by hundreds of meters of grey and black water had to work together seamlessly. It was that, or someone might not live to see the sun rise in the morning.

First, the sub closer to the surface attached a line to the buoy. The other end of the line was connected to one of the loading cranes on the huge ship holding station near the buoy. This would tether the buoy to the larger ship, preventing it from moving away as the operation progressed.

The next step would be up to the Sandfish. It took some work to pull each of the lines that had held the buoy in place for years out of the soil, mud, rock and all of the biological materials holding them in place. It had taken many starts and stops. The real trick was that they did not want to break anything when they pulled out the anchor or lines between the two pieces of hardware. The last line to come out of the sea floor was the main anchor line to the device. It was the one that had first deployed the device.

Once it was pulled free of the mud, it started being pulled up towards the buoy floating on the surface of the wave tossed grey water. It would not be retracted all the way to the surface, but it would only go up a hundred meters or so before its upward motion was stopped. The whole mass would have started moving, but the buoy was being held in place by the second sub and the tether from the Revenge itself. Both kept it from drifting in the ocean currents.

With the anchoring lines now free, the crane on the huge ship above the pair of submarines began its work. It was not a quick operation to complete. The Earthers did not want to damage the buoy or the ship, so the buoy was slowly pulled towards the ship and its waiting crew. Then, with the forward mounted jib crane and great care so it would not collide with the massive side of the ship, the buoy was pulled out of the cold water that had held it for the last few years. Even with the crane's long boom, the job was far from done.

The slimy and barnacle encrusted buoy was lifted over the railing, then lowed onto a wood and fiber cradle made a few days before just for the purpose. A group of crewmembers swarmed over the device as soon as it had stopped moving, and tied the buoy down to the already tied down deck cradle. Only when the deck boss was sure that the buoy was not going anywhere would the hardest and most labor intensive job be done.

The long anchoring line ran from the base of the buoy and its new cradle across the ship's deck, over the ship's railing and deep into the cold gray water at the ship's side. This task needed both the massive deck crane that was normally used to unload the heaviest cargo or weapons systems and more than a few deck hands all working closely together to get the job done. It needed to be done both timely and safely, more so with the number of VIP's that were on board the ship.

Adama was able to watch massive two meter tall metal encased people as they pulling and coiled the heavy, strong, but somehow still very thin anchor lines on to the ship's deck. It was a lot of work, but it was done in less than an hour. It took longer to finish securing the anchor line so that it would not move around the deck and thus endanger the ship or crew. As soon as the anchor line crew was done, a different group of people, noticeable because they were not wearing any apparent body armor, exited a hatch near the first heavy weapons turret. This turret had a pair of long thin barrels wrapped in a thin outer metal covering that pointed up and off toward the bow of the modified warship. He had been told that they were capital scale Direct Energy Weapons, what the Earthers called Lasers. It was one of the weapons Bill was looking forward to actually see in action. He wanted to see how much damage they could do. But that was for a later time.

The crews of tech support knuckle draggers on deck were in absolute heaven. They would be going over the barnacle and weed encrusted buoy, from the top to the bottom of the buoy for the next few hours. It was not going to be as detailed an inspection as they would have liked, but they were only checking out the listed or known high wear items that made up the whole device. If they saw anything that might cause the buoy to fail in the future, it would be noted. When they had finished the checkout of the buoy, the information would be passed along to a second crew that would be doing work on two selected buoys.

This new crew would make modifications to the new buoy they now planned to drop as a replacement unit. While that was going on, Adama was able to get some more food in the main mess hall. His stomach was still getting used to the idea of being able to eat red meat again. He was forcing himself to go easy on whatever it was on the menu. No matter how much he wanted to dive in with flashing forks, he would eat more of the fresh greens or whatever else was available than its juicy counterpart.

He had seen some reports coming through the medical department about some people who were having issues with the sudden change of diet. So far nothing had been fatal, it was only just uncomfortable for those few people. It was a nice problem to have if you only had to make sure you did not eat too much meat in a single day. Adama was not one of those people, so he was enjoying something called a burger by the locals. It was a thick bit of ground meat with green leaves and two thick cut slices of bright red tomato, all held together in what they called a bread bun. Wheat was still hard to come by, but the production now coming out of the growing areas in the cave systems was putting enough out. Now the average person could have some bread every day, even if it was only a couple of ounces and tasted very odd to the Colonials.

Adama spent the rest of the day on the waterbound warship wandering around, watching a well-trained crew at work. He did not have any job to do, but he also did not want to interfere with those people, like Captain Kelly, who did have jobs to do. He was not ignoring the other ship's commander, he was just staying out of the way. That did not mean that he was not doing something. He was having flashbacks of all of those times when he had political dignitaries or press on a ship he was in command of. They had seemed lost at understanding what was going on around them, or the dangers they could be in if they got underfoot at just the wrong time. He was at least experienced enough around larger moving vessels to know how to stay out of the way. Even if he did not know exactly what was going on around him.

Bill was on the starboard side of the ship, near the stern of the warship, kind of zoning out to what was going on around him. He was near a turret mounted missile launcher, close to where the large life boats were also tied down. He was told that the weapons mount had been modified from some salvaged missile turrets taken in battle. That they had come from a pair of Hurricane class missile patrol boats that made the mistake of attacking the Revenge years ago. The story he was told was that the attackers were part of a larger pirate group causing trouble in the local area. They had been attacking coastal shipping and even some of the smaller towns. The Revenge had acted as bait after receiving word of the attacks. Based on what he was seeing now, it would seem like it had worked out for this ship. Part of the payment for the mission had been that they could take anything they wanted from the wrecked or captured pirates. They were just asked not to be greedy. The locals also wanted more and better weapons to defend themselves with.

He had no idea how the Earthers' missiles compared to the Colonials', but the turret he had been looking at seemed to have forty good sized tubes. He knew that they divided them into four classes based on the diameter of the booster motor and the range of the weapons. One odd thing that Bill noticed about the missile turret with his military eye was that there was a jib crane blocking some of the fields of fire for the weapon system. After looking more closely at the jib crane, he noticed that it folded down across the top of the cargo hold. If it was folded down, it would open up the field of fire for the powerful weapons turret.

What had drawn the elder Adama to this location at first was not the short ranged missile turret. It was the sets of long line style fishing gear set up along one of rails of the ship. Adama had loved fishing while he was growing up as a kid. Whenever he took leave from the military, once his kids were grown, he would often rent a boat and spend days out trying his luck in any water salt or fresh. He spent the rest of day, until the sun went below the water, at those lines. He even helped pull in a fish that looked like a type of blue tuna out of the water one after the other rapidly. It was the most fun he had had since the Cylon surprise attack. He just wished Saul had been with him getting those lines wet for most of the afternoon. Bill would have kept fishing deep into the night if he could have his way. But the crew started pulling in the lines and packing them away in small metal boxes welded to the deck.

Now that he was not fishing, Adama could feel that the metal ship had started to move again. The mission to replace the buoy must be over, and the large ship would be heading back to the protected harbor it called home. Adama regretfully handed his fishing gear over to one of the deck crew and went back to the bridge of the vessel. He knew that he would have to sit in on a briefing soon. It would be on how things had gone so far on this mission. He knew that if it looked like he was going to be late for that meeting, someone from the ship's command center would have been sent to find him. The briefing would have nothing to do with the Colonials or the Colonial military. That is, unless a major surprise was found in, or on the buoy. If something that major had happened, he would more than likely have known about it by now, anyway.

It was only an hour later that Adama was on his way back up to the Colonial flagship in orbit overhead, just as planned. He had left right after the mission update meeting. As expected, there was nothing new in the meeting about the mission to replace the buoy. The only new piece of data had been that the Earthers had to deploy the backup buoy after all. The last part of the meeting was the only area that he ended up needing to be there for. That was when some of the visiting Colonial VIP's had asked about the upcoming move. That was the little operation of lifting the Lucky Find out of the bay and into orbit.

Between Kelly and Bill, they explained that when the Revenge made it back to dock, the crews would leave the warship. They were to make one last sweep of the larger ship with a fresh set of eyes. When they were sure that what needed to be removed had been, they would turn on the auxiliary power plant. It was the power plant that had been powering the large wooden vessel until a week ago. Adama had seen that wooden vessel, and it was impressive to think that they had built it, and all the supporting structure, from memory. Unfortunately that did not mean he thought it had enough value to take it with them on the next leg of the trip through deep space for who knew how long.

The Earthers for the most part agreed with the decision. Having a shortage of transporting space was not unknown to them after all. They had no problem remembering that they only had so much cubage of storage when they came to this world. If they had to choose between sleeping area, living space, and food storage, or a large wooden vessel, well, Adama knew what he would choose on that list of needs to cover. He was just glad that it seemed the leadership of these people agreed with him.

* * *

Later, he was getting a lift back to his ship aboard the only Raptor under Earther Control. Being flown by an ex-Cylon, ex-Colonial and now called Earther crew. Bill would have liked to spend the night on the ship, but he had too much to do, and they were short of time. Adama turned his head to look behind the copilot's seat at the odd shaped box strapped to the floor against the cabin's rear without thinking about it. It was a very large, somewhat cheap looking box, resembling nothing more than a cooler for cheap alcoholic drinks. But it was filled to the top with something a lot more valuable than even good alcohol was to the Colonials. The top of the cooler had a hand written note, in blocky Caprican letters. It was from the fishing crew that he had spent part of the afternoon with pulling in over half a thousand pounds of fish.

The gist of the note was that this was his cut of the catch that he had helped pull in. He was looking forward to cooking up some of the fresh caught meat. He would have to do some juggling, but he bet that he could have Laura over in a few hours to join him for a nice fresh cooked meal. The rest of it would go to the Flagship's cooks to pass out in the mess hall on a first come, first served basis. That meal was going to reward some, and make others upset that they had delayed in getting their meal.

The smile and the drumming of the Admiral's fingers did not go unnoticed by the Agathons at the controls of the craft. They did not say a word, but they had passed a few looks between them like only a married couple can do. Both were surprised at the sight between them. It made them happy to see that the Admiral was happy. Or at least having a good day, after so many bad ones. It had been Karl who made sure the deck hands knew who was helping them fish. All without letting the Old Man know what he had done. After they got over the shock of the information, they had come up with the cooler full of meat all on their own.

This trip in space was not just to bring the Admiral back to his flag ship. That would have been a waste of fuel. They still had almost a full load of the hard to find fuel on all of the ships both in orbit and on the ground, but it was a good habit to keep with the expected long trip ahead of them. They had had fuel issues before and that was not a pleasant memory. After the pair dropped off the senior Adama at the flagship, they were going to transfer some Earth made medical devices and pick up four Earthers. These Earthers had been helping out the limited Colonial medical teams in the Fleet.

The two Agathons would also be trading some gadolinium and neodymium that the Settlement currently had in excess. The trade was for some spare parts that had not been covered in the deal to transfer the Raptor over to the Earthers. The Earther leadership did not want to trade a lot of those minerals away yet, but the Colonials could also use them for some projects currently in the works. In the end, one of the Colonial manufacturing ships had offered a very good trade for the minerals in question. One that would have been foolish to ignore.

The Raptor was also picking up a few spare parts and tools that were supposed to come with the used Raptor, but had not been delivered or needed yet. They also would not be returning to the Revenge, still on the open ocean, when done with this lift of personnel and cargo into orbit. They would be returning to the Settlement instead. The Revenge would be returning late, or in the early in the morning. She had made a high speed run to the buoy, but would be coming back at a very slow and more sedate speed of only six or seven knots per hour. This was to facilitate fishing off the back of the ship, later in the night. They were not going to waste those lightly fished areas, not with such a long trip coming up. They wanted to have as much meat as they possibly could, but at the same time without wrecking the local areas' ecosystems. It was what had happened to the few fish filled creeks and ponds near the Colonial site, after their landing on this planet. If the fishing was bad, the ship would pick up speed to make it back to port at an earlier time. Kelly was always trying to do two things at once.

When the Raptor landed and was pulled into the port side hangar bay, it was soon surrounded by the flagship's deck crew. The crews were using this run to practice hot refueling, and combat loading. The crew helped to unload the craft of the cooler, and move the parts and tools in. Before they could take the almost three hundred pounds of filleted or pre-cut tuna steaks in the dry ice cooled container off the craft, Bill pulled out a few packages for himself. With the meat in hand, he sent a message to the mess crew about the expected arrival of real meat. Then he sent a message to the CIC to make arrangements for Laura and his son to come over for a working dinner. He would make sure that they each would have some of the cooked meal to take back to their ships. At least Lee would need to take some home with him after the meal. That is, if he wanted to sleep with both eyes closed any time in the near future.

* * *

Two and a half hours later, the four of them were sitting around the table in the living quarters of Bill Adama's cabin. As luck would have it, Lee's wife Dee was not due on shift for another six hours when the message came into the Pegasus' CIC. It was a nice family dinner between the two couples, with the thick cut tuna steaks demolished on the four plates. As the group sat around the living area of the small cabin, the dinner conversation slowly turned to work.

Lee Adama and Dee were looking over the plan for getting the almost fifty thousand tons of dead weight cargo ship into orbit over the planet. Lee was shaking his head in amazement at the plan. It was so far out of the box, it was not even human. "I know the math works, but are you sure we can pull that much mass out of the atmosphere? It does not have anything like a reinforced thrust frame to take the load." Deep disbelief colored the younger Adama's voice.

Bill was sitting on the one couch in the room with Laura sitting close to his right sides, and holding hands. "The numbers work, and if the ship is as sound as she looks, it will work. Finding those three Heavy Lifters on that area we used as a Raptor landing field was a great stroke of luck. It was nice of the Cylons to leave them for us to take." Bill had a slight smirk on his face as he laughed inside at his own joke.

Lee's eyebrows now were almost touching as he reviewed a sheet a paper that he had brought over with him before passing it to his wife to review. "Yes, I think they will be very useful, and they will give us a total of four of that type of craft, but only after those three have been checked out. My deck chief said they looked okay, but the maintenance crews want to fine tooth them one more time before they do any missions." Lee had been amazed that they were not full of bullet holes after the ground battle. In the end it had come down to there not being any Cylons around them, so the oddly shaped craft had not attracted any incoming fire.

Laura was looking back and forth between the two Adamas as they talked shop, and then decided to ask the question that had been bothering her for some time now. "Gentlemen you two seem happy about those things. What makes them so useful? I don't think Bill or you have ever talked about them before Starbuck's little night spent talking with the gods."

Bill turned slightly, but he did not say anything at first. He was trying to work out how to explain a ship's design and mission, to someone who had been a school teacher only five years ago. Bill finally worked out a way that might work.

"They are only used in very specific roles or missions. They could be used as heavy combat transport, oversized load lifters, and I even saw one that they tried to sell to the Colonial Military as a weapons assault ship. As far as I can remember, the military never bought into the design besides maybe a few special missions and some logistical units. They would lease them only when they needed one or two of them. Lee, what do you think?" Bill hid a smile as he punted the hot rock over to his son, who was developing quite the set of political skills of late.

Lee made another face as he worked out the best way to answer the question without talking down to the President of what was left of the Colonies. "Laura, the heavy lifter is an odd duck. A short ranged ship that is also hyper specialized. I had to work with them a few times as anti-pirate escorts for them, a few years back. They work best in the atmosphere. But they can also work all the way out of a local planet's high orbit, or on a large moon for mining without any other ship in support. It's around six or seven Raptors long. And the main hull, not counting the quad engine pylons, is about as wide as two raptors nose to tail." Lee stopped talking, and he was happy with himself. He thought that he had explained the Heavy Lifter quite well, even if his father had almost thrown him under the battlestar just now with the blindside kick.

Laura had a confused looked on her face, and with a slight shake of her head. "Then why don't they just use our regular cargo ships for the job. Even I have seen good sized cargo ships lifting off from space ports in my time." Laura was not getting the drift of whatever it was that these two had thought was a very simple issue.

Lee saw her expression first, then before he said anything, he closed his mouth, and looked up towards the ceiling. "Say that you have new mine of some kind. You need to set it up way off the normal support routes, or if the moon has a hostile atmosphere, you build the whole complex in say a place like Caprica to save on the onsite building cost. You have the entire complex built in blocks called super lifts by the ship builders. The Heavy Lifter flies over the factory part that has a huge part of your complex done. And then it lifts it straight up off the ground from the construction zone. It would carry it all the way up, and out of the atmosphere. All the way to a normal cargo carrier for the rest of the trip out to your hard to reach mining area. Now when you get to your area you want to mine, the heavy lifter can put itself over a certain spot over the ground from high obit. Then it fires its main engines and it more or less falls straight down the gravity well."

Lee could see that Laura was following what he was saying, and he was not getting a wave off, so he continued with his more in-depth explanation. "This stops what we call atmospheric drag from heating up the external load with the moving air. I am told that they can stack a building up to a few hundred meters high with only a few of these ships in a week or so. Though that's not counting all of the work on the main building site that would need to be done past the bulk structure."

Bill had a slight smile on his face, and patted Laura's hand. "That's right Lee, I forgot about them being used for putting together high-rise buildings. Laura you remember the Number One Caprica Financial Building? They built something like the first twenty five floors on site where the building now stands. At the same time they were building the rest of the building outside of Caprica City. When they were ready, they used a Heavy Lifter to carry the next section to the first part. They would drop it off, and the building crews would connect the two sections. They were able to put that monster together in under two months after they started using the Lifters to stack the large building blocks one on top of each other.

Laura was nodding her head up and down as Lee and Bill spoke to her. She could tell that they were trying to speak in as little military speak as they could, without whitewashing the answer that she wanted. "Okay, so what's the catch? There has to be a reason that I have never heard of one until today. They seem like they would have a lot of uses, just from my limited time in office." She stopped her head moving to lock eyes with her man, and raised an eyebrow. That face had a well known statement connected with it. It said, _"I'm not a child. You may use words that are larger than two syllables."_ Everyone in this home had seen or been fixed that look before, and all knew its meaning.

Bill laughed, and his son blew water out of his nose. In a few second, he filled in the blanks for his son. "You are right. They have a few issues. One, is that they are major fuel hogs. The fuel tank on one is about the same size as the one that Colonial One has. But it can only make two or maybe three round trips from high orbit to the ground on a fuel load of that size. Each of the four out rigger engines requires a lot of maintenance per flight hour of operation. Even with all of that detailed attention by a crew of support personnel, they still have a limit of only something like five hundred flight hours before they have to be pulled off the craft and sent back to the factory for a complete overhaul."

Bill stopped talking, and thought for a few seconds to come up with a good analogy that she would understand. "To give you a frame of reference, a Viper needs to have an engine overhaul every thousand-five-hundred hours of flight. That overhaul could be done by a battlestar's crews, no need send it back to the factory for work. Your Colonial One needs an engine overhaul about every five to ten years or so. Now, on top of that, they also don't use standard military parts anywhere on that beast. In fact they use a lot of parts that are not common among the normal civilian ships. Well, outside of a well-stocked major space port or orbital ship yard, that is. Only major hubs have the excess manpower to keep them in operation for any extended length of time."

Lee was back under control, and finished his line of thinking when his father stopped talking. Bill nodded his head towards him, signalling Lee to say something. "That is why finding those three new craft is so helpful. We were able to get some of the small to medium sized not so atmosphere capable craft down with some margin of error. And more importantly, back up to orbit after they'd been checked out. They also give us a few craft that we can cannibalize for extra parts when we need to. The three that were left also had support bays full of spare parts, so the Cylons could keep them in operation at the end of their supply line for some time. And I almost forgot, one part of their design that might be useful to us now. They are designed to be attached to the outside of a larger cargo ship for long trips. That will give us some extra elbow room, even after we have to rip the engines off a couple of them. They can leach power, right off the ship they are attached to. It was how they were designed. The only thing we will have to do is find out which ships have a jump field that can cover them."

Bill had a slight smile on his face. "We were even able to use some of those spare parts to get the one heavy lifter we had back in operation. When we are down to just two of those craft in operation, I'm planning on ordering them all to be shut down. You never know when they might come in handy down the road somewhere."

The rest of the evening was spent talking a little shop between them, and about what the future held. They talked about the now growing population, and the increase in morale among the Colonials. For the first time in a long time, there was something called hope in the fleet. And the root cause of this hope was the small group of humans who said they were from a planet called Earth somewhere out there. All agreed to that point of fact.

* * *

Five days later the hidden star system was outwardly unchanged compared to any other day in the last few decades. But, as one moved away from the cold dark of deep space and into the warmer areas, one could see things were different. A lot different. The debris fields from what had been left of the Cylon Basestars and the Galactica's hangar pod had drifted some. They were slowly starting to spread out as the effects of gravity and delta-V did their work on the free floating wreckage. Those areas had only been inspected very quickly for any items of high value. They did not want to ruin or contaminate the look of the battle site. They wanted the Cylons to think that maybe the humans had lost one of the protecting battlestars in the great space battle that had cost them three basestars. The Colonials could have used the salvageable metal, but it was decided that it was more important to leave the hulks as they were. Bill and Lee thought that they might change their minds later, but only after they had a few more important fires put out among their people. They had a lot to do with very few hands able to do the work.

Moving past the site of the battle and wreckage, and on towards the only planet in the so called goldilocks zone of this star system, one would see two of the massive warships in orbit above the cloud covered world. They were like massive metal guardian angels, waiting for the devil to show his horned face again. The areas in orbit were filled with small craft moving around a handful of larger craft of a dozen different descriptions. Most of those small craft were shifting tons of material to the working ships to be made into what the rebuilding fleet desperately needed. The two warships were perched in the lowest orbit of any of the larger spacecraft. They were at the point of almost continuously using their massive aft mounted engines, even if at a low power setting, to stay over one part of the sky over the cold planet at this low orbit.

Directly below the warships was a bay, one of literally thousands on this planet, and the warships were waiting for something to happen. On the surface of the planet, an almost two hundred meter long metal ship was out in the middle of a bay filled with cold looking gray water. The only people on the ship were six people. All of them were in full EBA or environmentally sealed battle armor. The EBA would help the people wearing it if they lost air pressure, but it would only keep their body parts together in one spot if the ship fell from any height above the water. Each person had volunteered for the job for the simple reason that it had to be done. It was that, or the Earthers would have to be packed in cheek to jaw with the other Colonials. Or stay on the planet and die when the Cylons came back.

Deep in the bowels of the ship, two Earthers sat very still in their ship like metal statues. Both were unidentifiable due to the dark faceplates on the helmets covering their faces. When everything was ready, a command was radioed to the pair, and two sets of gauntleted hands went to work. They activated the modified power supply securely mounted on the metal deck. Another group of four other people were spread out in different locations on the ship. Each had a section of the great ship that they were responsible for. They were there to keep an eye on sections of the gravity plates, and try to fix anything that might go wrong, or report when something looked off. That is,c before they died from the fall back down to the non-compressible water. The power moved quickly through the ship, and to the plates under each of the decks of the stripped bare cargo and passenger ship. The only sound was of waves striking the side of the ship, and maybe a slight humming sound coming from the attached power supply as it was brought up to full output.

From a safe distance a lot of people were watching the events unfold today. Every one of them was hoping that this event about to happen would be... uneventful. At first, they could not see any effect on the ship. After the word had been passed over the radios that they had already powered up the gravity plates, it was only a few minutes later that they could see something was indeed happening to the massive ship. A fat yellow line had become visible to the on lookers on the shore.

Few had known that the Lucky Find's long, tall, and hard hull was not painted in only one color. Most people would have said it was a gray ship. In fact, she had a red painted lower hull, to protect the metal covering the very bottom of the ship. The third color was a thick yellow belt. It was used to mark the line where water would touch, but only when the ship was at its lightest displacement possible. That was the color people on the outside of the ship were now seeing for the first time. Up until that day, the only people who had seen those two colors on her hull had been the underwater cleaning and repair detail of the jetty. Now it was rising higher above the gray waves of the slowly moving water of the bay. The next item that the gathered crowd could see, was the red painted bulbous bow. That shape of bow helped with the hydrodynamics of moving through the water. It saved the ship power used to reach a given speed while cutting through the liquid medium.

The gravity plates could not lift the vessel completely off the ground, or in this case, the salt water. Maybe if they had more people, more time, and the support of the entire Colonial Navy that might have been possible. There was just a problem in her design. One that had only recently been found and that they did not have enough time to fix in the window they had to get this job done. The addition of the Colonial made plates did lower the weight and mass of the Handymax sized vessel by a huge margin. Instead of several meters of the vessel being below the waterline, after about half an hour, only a few centimeters of the hull remained under the gray water. That was when another Colonial made and supplied sensor told the support crew on the land and the small crew in the ship it was time. The ship had stopped its movement upwards. The next phase needed to start before something went wrong with the operation.

Now that the job of making sure the anti-gravity plates were working was done, and there did not seem to be any issues, the four brave souls made their way to the main deck of the cargo ship for the next job that was required of them. Each of the four went to different locations on the deck, stood by thick cables and waited while they held onto something sturdy. When Captain Kelly saw the people emerge onto the deck of the long ship, he radioed for the next phase of the operation to begin, and started really sweating in the cool damp air. There were only two currently operational Heavy Lifter cargo carriers in the fleet. Both of them along with four Raptors could now be seen flying towards the almost hovering cargo/passenger ship. They were in a close diamond shaped formation as they closed in on the small bay.

The first cargo carrier and two Raptors broke formation. They made their way to the bow of the Lucky Find. The rectangle shaped ship with large engines mounted high on the back end of each of four small pylons hovered about two meters over certain parts of the ship. The EBA clad crewmen hooked up two of the heavy towing lines to the bottom of the largest of the hovering craft. Those lines ran to the anchor system controls mounted on the bow of the waterbound ship.

When the larger cargo carrier rose and moved about sixty meters directly off the bow, the two escorting Raptors came in to a hover over the small crew of armored people on the deck. The pair of Raptors each had one line attached to bottom of their hulls on a hook specially mounted for just this mission. The two smaller craft would help keep the ship steady. They hoped to act like line men with the crane lifting a heavy load. The scene was repeated for the last two Raptors and the other large Cargo carrier, but tied to the stern anchor systems of the cargo ship instead of the bow.

Now the next and the last phase of the operation could begin. It was the simplest part. At least on paper, it was. It was only to get the massive ship into low orbit without killing anyone. The trick in lifting the ship was not the total lifting power of the six Colonial ships versus the weight or mass of the Earther ship. It was the force of the air as it moved around the hull while it was moving upwards. The Earth made ships had special bracing to help fight what was called hogging. Hogging was when gravity and water pressure pushed a ship's middle section upwards. Today's operation would be contending with exactly the reverse of that.

If this had been done using the average ship built in the twentieth century Earth or a Colonial made water vessel, it would not have been possible. Not even close. However, the Lucky Find was a vessel made of super high tech metal and ceramics. All for a lot more hostile working and living environments than those other types of ships were designed to deal with on a normal given day.

The problem was the airflow, and it was one that not even all the Colonial experience in space travel could answer. It was often referred to as the Max Q, back before the Rifts changed Earth altogether. If referred to the maximum aerodynamic load a craft was under when it was launched from ground into orbit. No one knew if the ship's hull could take this new force loading on her frame. There was only one way to find out.

With a little power supplied by the two largest lifting ships, the Lucky Find finished coming out of the water, barely rocking back and forth in the wind coming off of the bay. Those six small Colonial ships had the whole mass of the Earth made ship. Everyone one was holding their breath as they all hoped the math was right.

Well, from a distance it looked like it was barely moving as it came out of the water. For the people inside the ship, it was moving pretty good. Or it was getting a little nautical, as the old salts would say to each other. When it was reported to the two large cargo lifters that the ship was free of the water by spotters scattered around the ground below, the two heavy lifters added a preset amount of power to each of the specially made engines. And the ship started to rise a little faster into the cool salty air. They wanted the rate of ascent to be just over a third of a meter per second until the shuttles and their attached load had reached a hundred meters above the water. The crews on all of the flying craft kept one ear out for any radio transmission giving any sign that something was starting to go wrong. It was hoped that if something bad happened and the ship fell from that short of a distance, the ship and those inside would be okayish.

When the all clear had been given to the six Colonial ships that everything seemed to be okay, the speed slowly went up to just under two meters per second, until the instruments on the Colonial craft read that they were three hundred meters above the ground and still climbing. With only a pair of clicks on the radio, the power was raised again slowly so as to increase the climb rate in one-third meter per second increments until the entire group was rising at fourteen meters per second and at four thousand meters above the water. They still kept rising in the thinning air, but this area had been identified as a problem. They were just below the cloud level for today, and those clouds held rain, wind, and ice in their off white fluffy masses moving at the top of this world. This also would be one of the last areas where they could do a detailed check of the systems.

They did a system check on all of the craft, starting with the ocean ship, then the lifting shuttles. The Raptors were last to run their checks in the thin air. The first six craft were now joined by four more Raptors coming down from high orbit. They would fly over the heads of the seven ships linked together as one mass of metal. It was hoped that these newcomers would pick up any weather issues before the lower group had to deal with them. When the all clear was given again, the power rose slowly again until the large ship was now just at eighteen thousand meters in the thin air above the planet's surface.

The transition through the cloud layer had been completely without any issues. The downward force that the thin, moving air was now giving the rising ship was so light that the speed of the ascent could be increased by a kilometer-and-a-half per second intervals. That was instead of the one-third-meter per second in the thicker lower atmosphere. It had taken a little over three hours in total to lift the ship to its current position beside the damaged battlestar floating just under five hundred kilometers above the cold waters of the bay. It had been a highly stress filled mission for both the crews on the moving ships, and the people on the ground. The moving ship was going to be their home. Any damage to it would directly affect how they were going to live in the near future.

The gravity plates were taking all the power that the nuclear power plant could produce to lift the ship by cutting its effective weight. Those plates had to stay on at the current power setting right up until the crew inside the ship was told to change a minor setting on a little box temporarily affixed to the Earth made power plant. What that meant for the crew still on the Lucky Find was that they were in zero-g for a few hours. No Earthborn person had even been in zero-g for more than a few minutes in hundreds of years. So the people in EBA had no idea or frame of reference for how they would feel or act in that strange condition of weightlessness. The Colonials were of little help in this area. They had been in space for a few hundred years. The Cylons loved targeting life support systems, so they drilled regularly in zero-g operations. It was ubiquitous to them in ways that was difficult to comprehend for people who were planetbound.

The suits were supposed to be built to work in space. But again, no one, much less the current owners, had ever been able to do any real testing on them in that kind of environment. That is, besides a few who had fallen into Rifts and were lucky enough to return home alive. These suits in today's job had been exposed to open vacuum for a few hours on a trip to the Colonial flagship. The Colonials had even indulged them and helped test them in zero gravity under controlled conditions. That one test was the limit of the space checking they could get done before the mission was executed. It was nowhere near enough preparation for the real thing.

Again the suits worked as advertised. But for about half of the Earthers in the ship, the same could not be said of their stomachs. Till they could come out of the EBA after this mission, those people were going to be okay. It was just that their nose hairs were going to be singed for a while, and they would just have to deal with it until they were done for the day. All while while not choking on the fumes that their rebelling stomachs had filled their helmets with. They were just lucky that the suits' designers had the forethought to think about vomit ending up in the helmets, back when they were first made on a planet far away from where the users currently were.

There is not an up or down in space. So when the word was given to switch power settings on the gravity-plates, the only thing that happened was that the crew of the ocean ship turned space ship were pulled to the metal decking in the blink of an eye. To them it was now just like the ship was back on the water and they now had a feeling of down for their bodies to understand. It was just too bad that most of them had forgotten one thing for some reason. They had all started to float around the insides of the metal ships corridors to have a grand old time. When the gravity gave them a down, it was just like they all decided to do belly flops on the deck, from a meter-and-a-half to as high as two meters off the metal deck. It was a little on the painful side when they got the little reminder about the word called gravity.

If any of them had been on the outer deck when the setting was changed, it would have been an impressive sight. One that very few people in the galaxy had seen before or ever would. They would have noticed that if they looked all the way up as far as their necks would let them, they would have seen the approaching battlestar with its side facing towards them. Or about ninety degrees out of alignment with their cargo ship. It was impossible to gauge the size of the warship in the star filled black sky that stretched all around the people and the ships around them. When the massive ship was a few hundred meters from the damaged area of the old battlestar, the two heavy lift cargo ships auto released the towing lines and left them to free float in the vacuum of space.

* * *

To the group of spacemen on the battered outer hull of the battlestar, it looked like the Lucky Find was lying on her side with the red bottom facing towards them. It was like a huge bloody knife coming slowly toward them from the depths of space. It was by now being dragged by only the four small Raptors. Getting closer, and slowly closer to the spot that used to hold a hangar pod on the Colonial ship.

The Raptors were only there to slow down the massive whale of gray metal. That and fine-tune the ship's alignment against the side of the old war horse of a Colonial fighting ship. The scene was being transmitted to a few ground stations, the two battlestars, Colonial One and almost every other Colonial ship. This was a major news event for everyone.

When the two ships were almost touching, the movement down to a handful of centimeters a minute, four Colonials using small jet packs jumped across the open space to the sides of the slowly moving Earth made ship. Each of them had magnetic boots on their suits, but they still needed the packs to keep them close to the hull, and not float around lost in space.

This movement took a bit longer than planned because of what was called the 'gravity slide'. This was the effect of the gravity-plates being parallel to the battlestar instead of perpendicular like they used to be. Once the battlestar damage control crew got used to the condition they were going to have to work under, they made it to the attachment points at the bow and stern of the blue water ship without too much more trouble. That first little step had been enough to cause more than one of the damage control personnel to say a few choice words. For weeks later and every so often, mind the gap jokes would run rampant around the fleet.

All of this movement was silent in the void of space. The Raptors released their end of the towing lines on a single command from one suit in the group but only after they made sure that the earth ship had stopped all motion relative to the flagship. The four person crew from the battlestar pulled hand over hand on the lines until they reached the end of the lines that had been dropped from the Raptors. The lines were weightless, but they still had mass. So they had to be careful when they walked, then jumped, back to the battlestar. All while still holding onto the ends of those four tow lines.

It took some time, but they eventually got the job done without anyone taking an unintentional ride out into deep space. There were actually a few Raptors on hand just in case such a thing happened, although mainly they just filmed everything for posterity's sake. And so that they could learn from any mistakes committed no matter how small or insignificant they might seem.

The Earther manned EBA's sat this one out. The pilots did not have any training in damage control on a warship, much less working on a warship's hull in low orbit over a planet. There was, after all, not a safety net anywhere to be found within light years of them. All the Earthers could do was keep an eye out for any trouble. Or look for any issues that might be starting to show its fangs.

The first action for this new group of suits was to rotate the Earther made ship. That done, the red painted bottom of the ship was now facing away from the battle scarred ship and the massive cargo cranes lined up to points on the main hull of the warship. The small group of space suited crew then pulled the towing lines over to the Galactica's side and fed the thick lines into the somewhat repaired retraction bars for the now missing hangar pod. These heavy lines had been made on Earth, and had been in the Neptune's Revenge's spare anchor lines box for almost a decade before being turned over to the Colonial flagship.

The lines were fed into the giant turning gears meant to move a mass that was a significant fraction of the whole battlestar's. And those massive gears could do it quickly. Even in combat. The six inch diameter towing lines were fed into those gears, and on a trickle of power those gears started to turn very slowly. Turning the ship until it was oriented correctly. It was slowly pulled the last few inches until the Lucky Find was touching the Colonial flagship in all of the places that had been planned for. And not one that had not been planned for.

In about half an hour, all six towing lines were tied to support members on the damaged battlestar. Then the crews added six more Colonial made lines, running them in long loops around the newest spaceship in this system. All of those lines were pulled as tight as they could be, to make sure the newest addition to the flagship did not move. Of all of the tasks that had to be done so far today, this was one that the Colonial battle damage crew had trained to do a number of times.

The Galactica was a warship, one of the only class that ever needed to retract its small craft launch and recovery pods before being able to move from star system to star system. It had simply been the largest Colonial ship of its time, and jump technology was not up to the task. For the next few decades, succeeding classes of battlestars were smaller and would not need this system of retractable flight pods. It was only until roughly a decade ago that Colonial shipwrights would be able to build a ship as large, or even larger, without needing retractable pods.

What the damage control crews were doing had always been practiced in case the unthinkable happened. That they could not retract a damaged hangar pod before escaping something nasty. That did not mean that it was quick or not a dangerous job to do, but they knew what to do to get the job done to standard. When the job was done, they signaled for the second team so that they could start their own long list of tasks to do. More than one person in the fleet knew that what they were doing was going to be something that would be written about for years to come.

For the rest of the day, the battlestar's crews worked on putting in access tunnels between airlocks on the battlestar, and the airlock equipped hatches on the Lucky Find. It was a lot of work that needed to be done, though only by very few people for now. Some of the work had been done while the great ship was waiting, but the final fitting was extremely delicate work. Nobody wanted an airlock or access way to lose air pressure while it was in use. They were finished one at a time as an all hands evolution, starting with the access points near the ship's super structure, which held the bridge of the ship, and moving outward.

* * *

Dinner that night was a time of celebration across the fleet, and the planet below. The first part of modifying the massive battlestar had been completed, just as it had been foretold would be. And best of all, no one had been hurt in the process of accomplishing it. Well, that is besides some cleanup in a few of the Earthers' suits. That caused a few bruised egos as soon as the suits were popped open.

The other item to be celebrated by the command staff was the completion of the first completely new nuclear tipped anti-ship missile in almost a year. It was the first one to be made since the Cylons found this hidden system. At Laura's rather insistent suggestion, they had made a big production about the new weapon as the final stages were accomplished. Updates were transmitted live to the whole fleet at certain key times over the last few days. A press crew kept abreast of every step, every single component as it was built until they were all brought over to the Pegasus for final assembly. Live coverage began after the final check out, and it was followed live as it made its way from the missile maintenance shop, all the way down to the missile magazine. From there it went into an, until now, empty dorsal missile tube on the massive Mercury class battlestar.

Adama's son had given a very detailed briefing to the gathered press crew for the event. He emphasized the assistance the Earthers had provided, that building the missile had been a combined effort, and that more warheads were currently being worked on. He did not let slip that the Earthers had their own ship killers, and would be getting a Colonial built warhead of their own. That is, if they had time to mine enough of the minerals. The ore that was coming up was very rich, and according to the geologist in the fleet, it would have made a frakking huge vein of lead one day. Like in say a few thousand years or so.

The ore was coming up in forty and fifty ton lots every few days. It got to the point that the manufacturing ship's commander marveled at how the flow to his ship was so much, and in such steady quantities. Then there was the amazing quality of the ore he was able to work with. Not all of these things were talked about when the press was near.

* * *

The Pegasus and the mining ships had returned with another full load of raw material less than three days before the massive Earther ship was lifted into space. Now that the Colonials knew where in the nebula to find what they needed, it was a simple case of making sure they got there safely. Once that part was taken care of, they just got down to pulling what they need out of the rocks that they already knew about until all of the cargo holds were full again.

While the Mercury class Battlestar was watching over the little fleet of ships at work, her crew started attaching all the plates of armor that they got from the Earthers. The process involved some Earthers that had come along on this run. They were the only ones who had any experience working with this type of material that could be incredibly hard without being brittle.

The three Earthers supervised the installation of the first few plates, then gradually handed off more of the work to the Colonials. Eventually only helping out as quality control or troubleshooters for any problems as they showed up. The trade off was that the work would also get them used to working in space. Admiral Adama had chosen to ask for the more easily produced plates that were not as good as what the Earthers used to repair their combat machines. As Bill told Laura. "Better is the enemy of good enough." Bill wanted as many plates as he could get for the least amount of material, energy, and time.

Apollo had run tests. Up to, but not including, detonating a nuclear weapon on a sample. All away from the prying eyes of the Quorum and any news personnel. There were some things that Bill, Lee and Laura thought should still be held close to their chests. Amazingly, it had worked exactly as advertised by the Earthers. Apollo's crew had patched almost all of the damage done to the warship from all of the fighting the ship had survived to date. All while they waited as the mining ships did their jobs. Every last hole and every last dent were worked on, and every last plate of the amazing stuff that anyone had on hand was used up. Those would be about the only armor plates to be made for some time. How long would depend on a lot of events falling into place. They would have to get the armor shops set back up in operation on the Lucky Find.

As it was, after all the work, the Battlestar Pegasus would be almost good as new. As damage resistant as any battlestar in the entire history of the Colonial Fleet. It was just too bad that she was the only ship of her class left in human hands.

The timing for their return was great. Now, without any major projects being worked on, the newer warship, and more importantly, her large crew, could be used on other projects for the good of the fleet as a whole. Like getting the Lucky Find attached to where the Hangar pod used to be on the old flagship. After this shift was complete, a crew from the other battlestar would be flying over to take over the tasks that still needed to be done.

The first task was to construct a pair of temporary small craft lift and airlock system at the side of the Earther vessel. It would fit in the open space between the top of the cargo ship and the main hull of the battlestar. It would look almost like an 'L' when it was done. This addition was not in the plans that had been given them, but it was hoped that it would work out any way. It would fix some operational issues between the two vessels that the commanders were beginning to foresee.

It would look like a flat roofed metal house, and would be used as a quick way to reestablish the ability to launch Raptors. It was similar to a system used by modern battlestars. The bottom of the house-like structure would be a lift leading to the Number One cargo hold of the Find. It would also be acting as an airlock to that area. When a small craft was to be launched, the hatch would close, and the lift would carry the craft upwards while the roof opened up to the dark of space. Once the lift stopped moving, the craft could then take off of the elevator platform. Just like it would on any other battlestar. Once the craft had cleared the lift, the lift would descend again and the roof would close airtight above the now empty structure.

The landing and housing area was large enough that it could hold heavier cargo shuttles like the GAL 360's in use by this fleet. They were a bit too small for the two ships that helped lift the surface ship into space, however. Once the temporary Raptor Launch bays were finished, the Pegasus crews would work on removing the Number One cargo crane nearest to the structure. No one really thought that the night crew could remove the crane by the end of their shift, but there always needs be a goal to aim for, or one did not push hard enough.

Starting the next shift would be a larger team made up of the Bucket's crew. These would be people with certain specific skillsets. They would be led by Galen Tyrol and would have a long list of items that needed to be done. He was going to be the test case for reintegrating one of the Final Five human form Cylons back into the crew and human population of the small fleet. Adama and Roslin did not think that the job of getting the Earth made ship attached to the battlestar could be done without his help. At least, not in the timeline they were looking at. So they had burned the midnight oil trying to figure out a way to make it happen. It was something from Saul that gave the older Adama the base idea of how it might be done. The old goat had brought up Athena, and her support to the fleet as well as the human race.

They had come up with a list of requirements for trust to be established. First each of the Cylons would have to accept that they really where Cylons after all. That was something Ellen Tigh still had trouble with, and it did not seem like she was going to accept that fact any time soon. She had been known as a very stubborn woman for decades.

The next hoop they would have to jump through was that they would have to get a scan by the Earther medical teams. They wanted to see if they had any hidden programming of any kind buried in their brains or silicon pathways. They had found out in testing on a few captured Cylons that the Number Ones had done just that kind of thing to the other models of human form cylons. The Ones had done it to hide the identities of the Final Five along with some nasty history that they did not want to be uncovered by their fellow human forms.

The POW's were still coming to grips about the mental rape they had been put through by members of their own kind. Some of them were getting better but they were few in number. The ones like Athena, and one or two others were such. Only time and testing would tell if more of the human forms would become members of the group of refugees or not. The glue would be their hatred of the Cylon named John, and the rest of the Number One line of human form Cylons.

The next hurdle in developing trust was that any Cylon had to accept a very old school version of _parole_. The Earthers had been a lot of help with setting up those rules that made up the details of the parole. Rules that the parolees would have to follow to the letter, with checks and balances put in place. The Earthers had extensive experience on this type of situation. Where they were from, it was fairly common. This disturbed Adama more than he told even Roslin, but he went along with the plan anyway. There were too many issues that the Final Five had helped with in the past for him not to support the idea.

The next thing was that both Adamas, and the experts and heads of every branch of engineering available to the fleet had gone over the plans to fit the two Earth ships to the battlestar. They had come up with a list of twenty-four areas where sabotage could ruin the job that was required. This list was given to Tyrol, who in less than ten minutes had added another fifty items to the list. That, as well as confirm twenty-three of the twenty-four items that had been found earlier. The twenty-fourth item had been put in there by the senior Adama himself. Trying to slip one past the chief knuckle dragger. That it had not worked had made the older Adama very happy. It was not often that Bill Adama liked it when a plan failed on him.

Galen Tyrol would be in charge of the whole task overall, but he would only be directly in charge of the Galactica's working crews. Apollo did not think that his crew would do anything overt against Tyrol, but it was not worth the risk in the end. So the Pegasus' crewmen were led by a member of her crew when they were on shift. Tyrol would also have to be escorted at all times by two people that had orders to shoot the Chief in the frakking head if needed. That is, if they spotted something off. They were there also to protect him, as well as to record everything and every word said by the human form Cylon.

Tyrol was told that he was in charge, but every action would be recorded and subject to review by a board of experts. If he did not accept that condition, he could stay in his cell on the planet. He did not know that the board was made up of only one person, that being Bill Adama. He had accepted the idea of someone looking over his shoulder with amazingly little complaint. Besides, it would keep him on his toes, thinking that it might be someone who might have it out for him operating in the background. Agreeing to being spied on without any complaint was not actually considered normal for the Chief. That right there showed Bill how much he wanted out of that cell.

Was it a nice way to work?

Not even close, but it was the only thing that they could come up with in this short amount of time. This was a test. And sometimes when you test something, it breaks on you. It was something you just had to deal with as part of the test. Galen was just happy to be back to doing something, and not sitting in a cell going slowly crazy. Or maybe more crazy than he already was. If he had been asked, he would have been okay if they had put a small bomb on his back while he was working. As long as he could do something to help the people that he thought of as his own. No matter what the tests might say, what race he belonged to according to some text book, he was a member of the human race.

* * *

Three days later Adama, the three members of the Earther government, and Roslin as the acting President of the Colonies were all dressed in Earther EBA and Colonial deep space suits. They were crowded together on one of the short wings of the Raptor that had carried them into space for today's little tour. From this viewpoint, they could see the work being done to the two ships as they floated in space above the planet far below them. It was an impressive sight, even if it was being broadcast every few hours on the few news channels they had.

The warship and its new addition had been moved up into a more stable, low energy orbit two days ago. The group of watchers knew that there were sixty people working below them on the million ton mass of metal, but those small dots were too hard to see with the naked eyes. At least from this point, far above the two ships and with the glow of the planet surface coming up from below the work area they were surveying. They had achieved a lot in a very short amount of time. Most of the visible work on the ships had been done over the last eighteen hours.

Two temporary small craft lifts had been installed, tested, and approved for future operations. The four massive cargo cranes that the Lucky Find had carried up into orbit had been removed from their round fixed mounts. It had been decided that they should make all effort to save them for a future need. They might be of some use when they made planet fall again. Bill knew that they could have used them a half a dozen times after they had first found this planet. All four had been pulled out of their mounts whole and were now laid out on the hull of the great old warship. They were going to act as fillers in an open space between sections of the two ships that did not touch each other. They were to be covered over with armor plates when more of it was available for the flagship to use. Until then, the cranes and even the hull of the Lucky Find was attached via cables and spot welds.

Using the armor plate had caused some public concern. This was not just decided out of hand, and it was not covered in the drawings that had found their way to the work crews. This addition would protect those maybe useful items from even the odd meteor damage that can happen in space. And the added covering would help with the way that the jump field formed over the hull of the ship when it was time to move between the stars. That was not the most obvious change in the massive Earth made ship, however.

The knife shaped bow of the cargo ship had been cut off all the way back to the massive bulkhead that was one wall of the first of the ship's cargo holds, shortening the overall length of the vessel. Right now that bow section was floating freely not too far off the dorsal side of the battlestar. It would later be cut up into smaller pieces to be recycled into other items that the Earthers or Colonials could use. That idea came from the Earthers themselves. They were all about using every bit of any hard to find resource.

This is where an appreciation of the true strength of the Earthers' metallurgical technology came out, and hit everyone in the Colonial fleet straight in the face. All of the areas to be cut off of the Lucky Find, as specified on the drawings, had to be marked using a high powered cutting marker. The crews used one typically used for damage control. It would just burn a trench line about a quarter of an inch deep into a ship's outer skin. It could do this at the same average pace as someone walking on the ship's outer hull.

On this ship, which according to all accounts was just a civilian cargo ship from far away, the military grade marker took as long as if they were actually cutting through a battlestar's armor. And to much the same depth. To speed up the process of marking the areas to be removed, other qualified people had had to man every cutter in the whole fleet to finish marking the areas to be removed. It was the only way the task could stay on schedule.

Adama had had to contact the Earthers and ask them for help after getting a back brief from Tyrol on the problem early on. If marking a cut line had been that hard, the rest of the cutting was going to be off the charts hard with only the equipment that they had on hand. Cutting something as hard as battlestar armor was simply not done outside of dedicated yard facilities. Bill was not surprised that the Earthers had no problem sending people and equipment up to help out on the cutting job. They wanted to test as much of their equipment in the rigors of space as they could. The more time they spent in space with their equipment before combat, the fewer mistakes would be made when the time came. But the Earther leadership also knew that their people did not know what to do or how to do the job, much less do the job safely. The Earthers would have to leave it up to the Colonials to figure out what to do and leave them in charge. The Earthers would be doing the work, and the Colonials would be doing the managing. At least for now.

The Colonials simply did not have with them the equipment to cut through metal this hard. Not in the time constraints they had. So now a dozen Earthers in powered armor and robots were using their weapons while working on each shift. They were cutting up the one time cargo ship with almost obscene ease. The weapons those machines were carrying were not designed for cutting, but for blowing good sized holes into things. Fortunately, after some experimenting on the ground, they worked out ways to make it work without damaging the laser and plasma weapons too badly. Now with the bow gone all the way to the first cargo hold, the mixed teams started to work on cutting into the super structure of the great ship with equal vigor. It too would be stripped of any deck or protrusion that was not absolutely necessary for the important mission that needed to be done.

As the group of leaders watched from the short wing of the Raptor, the massive smoke stack could be seen being moved away from the hull of the formerly ocean going ship. Next to come off the Lucky Find would be a section of the ship's stern and her twin rudders. They were going cut it all the way back to the massive gold colored prop that used to have a twin brother a few years ago. The one remaining prop and shaft would stay right where they were for the simple fact that no one had any idea where to store them until they were needed again. The sharp ends would damage anything they might have used to secure them to the outer hull of any ship. And any welding might damage the metallurgy of the precision made object.

The last item scheduled to be cut off the ship would be the massive command tower that made up most of the super structure. It would be cut down all the way to the roof of the bridge line. The once pride of the Golden Age Weaponsmiths shipping department would only lose about the top six levels of the super structure. It would have been better to remove two more levels, but the drawings handed to them by the Gods all showed that the command and control area should stay in place. So they left it. Just as shown by the pair of Oracles' drawings.

The last items to be removed from the ship, but not for good, would be the eight weapons turrets that the ship carried. The two medium missile launcher turrets with sixty single shot missile tubes between them, and the six twin auto cannons and their mounts. All would be moved and split-up to cover the top and bottom of battlestar. Control of the weapons would run from CIC of the flagship to what was left of the Lucky Find's bridge, and then to the weapon mounts. They would be on the bottom of the ship with access through the modified ship's bilge hold, one tank that was now empty of fuel, and one empty fresh water tank. It would take some time to work out any kinks in the new set up, but that was for a later time, though hopefully not that much later. Those weapons were too powerful not to have them available in case of a hostile attack down the road.

Kelly pushed a button on his suit to activate his communication system. It was an open channel, so everyone could hear within the transmitter range of about a dozen miles or so even in space. "What's the timeline for the start of the next phase?"

Adama could not tell who had asked the question due to the translation software, but he had an idea of who it was. "They should be done cutting all of the excess top structure off today. I hope they will start working on the connecting of additional access ways between ships by next shift. They will be doing that, and welding supports and bracing at the same time that they're putting her on a diet. I want to do the first small test jump by next week. If we can."

The elder Adama had an idea what the next question would be from this group. With this being on open channel, it would be picked up by the news teams that were known to be listening in on this little tour. He decided to explain what he was talking about. "We're planning on a short tactical jump, and then check for any issues the new addition might have caused to my lady. If we don't find any issues, then we will plot the next, more stressful jump. It will only be a jump across the star system. The last set of tests will be a full ranged jump of fifteen lightyears, then jump back after we check and fix anything that might have broken." Bill had no idea what was going to happen during those jumps. If something like this had been done by the Colonial Navy, he would not have trusted that his ship could move under its own power, much less jump to a different star. Not after what had been done to his ship.

Troy was still in the cabin of the small craft with her dark eyes the sized of baseballs. One would think that a being that was part machine would not be terrified by the idea of walking in space. Nevertheless the medical systems in her suit had started shouting warnings the second the hatch had opened on the Raptor. Almost every telltale that was related to medical issues was way past the safe zones for open space operation. Helo was watching her closely just in case it was some kind of trick, but no one else knew that but himself and the older Adama. At least she was working with Roslin again, and she let loose one bit of information that had not been released yet.

"The plan is to not move anyone or anything back on to the Find. That is, until the entire set of tests and jumps have been completed. We can't afford to lose anyone, or anything, needed to support us on the upcoming trip."

This was all for the press crews' benefit, including Kelly's statement a few minutes before. Bob now had a part to play. After all it was his ship, or had been at one time. "We would like to move back in as soon as we can. We want to start setting back up the hydroponics and the workshops. If you need anything that we have to speed up things, just ask."

Adama smiled in his helmet at the acting skills of the other ship's commander. He put a voice to the other captain. "We might ask for a few more people. Those lasers you have, sure helped a lot with the cutting of the ship's hull. But having too many untrained and not space qualified people out there might cause more problems instead of speed up the process of getting ready to travel."

Bill gave that statement a few seconds to sink in, before finishing up this little play. "I think we should be returning to the Raptor's cabin, and continue the rest of the scheduled tour."

With the hatch now closed and locked down, the little but very full Raptor, began firing small thrusters located all around the small craft. It started moving in three different dimensions all at once until it was pointed in the right direction. Before Racetrack could put the spurs to the craft however, she instinctively jerked her head down for some reason. Most of her brain did not even know why she had jerked like that. The reason soon revealed itself in the form of two white and red blurs moving across the clear screen of the cockpit canopy, very closely.

The only way anyone knew that the blurs were Mk II Vipers was because the Mk VII version of the craft were all uniformly painted in a drab blue-gray color. All of the surviving Mk II Vipers were painted in white and red colors. Although they were also due to be painted in what someone in the Colonial Navy called 'Space Superior Gray'. That is, if they ever get the time, paint, and energy to do something besides just surviving to see the next day.

From the outside of the Raptor's cockpit. The two Vipers did snap turns to keep their noses and weapons pointed at the Raptor with puffs of white gases coming from around the little space fighters. It was a classic attack maneuver they had just pulled off without being spotted by the Raptor beforehand. Inside the Raptor, warnings were sounding and lights flashing to match the threat. All to let the crew know that they were being targeted by fire control DRADIS.

Over the Colonial transmitter on the Raptor came a female voice that both Adama and Racetrack knew very well. Two of the three people that knew the voice could see the smile on the blonde woman's face in their minds as the words tickled their ears. It matched the tone of the voice coming over the craft's, and suits' built in receiver systems.

"Hey Racetrack! You better stay on your toes. Or I will get my old job back a lot quicker than even I thought I could."

Racetrack was furious, and like the place that she was given her handle for, she was lightning quick to respond to the voice coming over the speaker. And it carried venom to those who had disturbed her world. "Starbuck! YOU FRAKKER! I have VIP's on this tub! Go play games with someone else, and don't you worry about my job. Speaking of jobs, don't you have some kids to be babysitting?" Margaret let her hand come off the transmit button of its own accord.

It did not matter what type of craft was flying. If some high level VIP's needed to be flown, it normally had Starbuck's fingers somewhere connected to the mission. At least after Bill Adama had taken command of what was left of the Colonial Navy. With Starbuck now back to being the top Viper trainer, and still 'working' at the gambling hall, she simply had so many tasks on her plate that she simply could not have done this mission even if she had been asked first. But she had not been asked at all, and she was just a little upset about that turn of events.

Racetrack had no idea that in the rush to counter the barb from the other pilot, her reply had gone out on the open channel. Anyone and everyone heard what she had just said if they had access to a receiver. Anyone and everyone included the news crews who had been watching the tour from a distance. Kelly was looking at the Admiral, and both men were smiling and shaking their heads. Sometimes being a ship's commander was a lot like being parent to a bunch of over charged, hyperactive kids. All with too much free time on their hands to be safe.

Kelly, on a private channel, contacted Adama. "We have some of the same problems with a lot of our Robot Jocks. It seems like nothing changes, no matter what planet you are born on. It does make our lives taxing, does it not?"

Adama was biting his lip, so he just gave the other man a thumbs up sign. He did not need to say anything else to the other officer and leader. The rest of the return flight to the larger of the two battlestars went without any more drama or close fly-bys by nearby training Vipers. The reason for the trip to the newer battlestar was to show off a prototype Colonial Laser for the first time in public. This was the first Directed Energy Weapon ever built by anyone in the Colonial Fleet that anyone knew about.

The Raptor made its approach to the Battlestar Pegasus from behind, and the great Mercury class battlestar had all of her numerous weapons run out for full display. This was to give the Earthers an idea of what a real Battlestar was supposed to look like, up close and personal. The sight was very impressive. And the VIP's were very much in awe of the massive warship as they came into a landing on the upper port side hangar pod. The VIP's Raptor landed on a small craft lifting pad as smooth as silk. The little Raptor had just put the full weight of the craft on the landing pad when the pad started to descend down into the massive hangar pod. That pod held the launch and recovery systems for half of the Vipers, Raptors and other small craft carried by the battlestar.

The ride into the massive warship was as smooth as you can expect from a top of the line battlestar. One that had only been in service after her last major overhaul for eighteen months before the Cylon sneak attack. When the final airlock opened, the craft was on the main hangar deck of the pod. The only sense of movement was a slightly different vibration in their feet. And the moving walls visible out of the cockpit glass. The entire elapsed time. from landing on the pod, to being put in the main hangar, was fifteen seconds total.

This whole hangar area had been cleaned and made ready for the VIP's to make their appearance today. Some of the massive fireproof blast doors had been dropped down so that this one area was segregated from the rest of the ship. This was for safety, security, as well as controlling the number of people who wanted to be lookie-loos at the leadership. Right now, those types of people would not only be underfoot, they could also be a possible danger to everyone.

Only one other spacecraft was in this isolated section of the massive hangar pod. It was not one of the old or even a newly built sleeker looking blue-gray Mark VII Vipers sitting there. It was a well maintained, shiny white with red highlights, but well used Mark II Viper. It was pointed at a metal wall, with round red rings painted on it at what looked to be specific points. It was obvious even to non-military people that the fighter craft was pointed at a target of some kind.

When the lift had finished moving, the group of VIP's were escorted to a set of rooms that had been set aside for them to use in private. They were able to get out of their space rated suits, and get fixed up in their regular attires. Regular attire for the most part meant suits, the preferred battle armor of politicians, be they Earth made or Colonial. All of the space suits had ended up in metal lock boxes that the respective owners would keep the keys for. Almost all of the VIP's exited their individual rooms at the same time or very close to it. That is, all except this ship's commander. He had been the quickest in changing clothes, so that he could lead the next part of this tour.

Apollo was waiting for the group in his full dress uniform, and much to the delight of his father, it was the very same uniform he had worn when the Colonies was attacked. He could only wear it now because of the recent weight loss he had acquired since the massive battle over the planet. He put on a grand show and tell or daggit and pony show as they were called in the Colonial Military by the people who had to put them together way too often to enjoy anything to do with them. He was very good at this type of thing, and he even enjoyed doing them from time to time. In this he was very much unlike his father who would rather have his teeth pulled without the use of any painkillers than do these types of things.

Apollo stopped just forward of the port wing of the old, but nice looking Viper. He pointed to a second display that had been set up off to one side of the little fighter craft, then stepped to one side so that the onlookers could get a better look at the display. Then he started talking again about the weapon on display outside of the Viper. This was more for the benefit of the Earthers than any Colonial, but it never hurt to review a few things from time to time.

"This is the standard KEW weapon, that both the Cylons and Colonial Fleet have been using since late in the First Cylon War on their attack craft. There has not been much change in the design, other than slight improvements in capabilities that rolled out every few decades. The Mark II Viper can carry two of these weapons, and enough ammunition, for about thirty seconds of sustained firing of each of the weapons in combat."

This was old news to the whole group, but Lee still was a very good showman and kept their attention with the displays. Now he was about to drop the bombshell that the group had been waiting for. "We have been working very closely with some of the Earther weapons experts for some time now. And we have now developed a workable 'Pulse Laser' type weapon."

Lee had used the straight English words for the weapon name. "We were able to radically modify, and use the Mk VII fly by light systems that the Pegasus can build in her shops as the starting point. We had a lot of help from Mr. Tyrol to get started. They were able to come up with this prototype weapon that we have mounted on this craft. This is a twin barreled weapon, and each of barrels is fifteen millimeters in diameter. We covered them with an outer layer of metal to protect them from damage, and to pull any excess heat off of them. A side benefit of that idea is that the outer covering will visibly hide the fact that we have modified our weapons." He walked around pointing out different areas. Before clearing the line of fire between the Viper and the red circles that were painted on the wall about fifty meters off the clipped nose of the craft.

Apollo pointed to the far wall with the targets marked in red. "We only have the one weapon built, so far. So the damage will be half of what a MK II will eventually be able to deliver on target and a third of what a Mk VII will be able to bring per shot. The target mounted to the far wall was taken from a Heavy Raider that we had set aside for testing."

Lee looked toward the open cockpit of the Viper and the dark helmeted figure sitting quietly in its seat. Lee gave a sly smile, and raised his voice to carry through the helmet the pilot was wearing with ease. "Mr. Tyrol, whenever you're ready?" Lee wanted the press to know who had helped with the design and was still helping with the testing.

The Colonial Fleet had a frak load of regulations about firing any live weapons on a warship, much less a prototype of a new class of weapons for the first time. All of them were followed to the letter today. All but two. One was that every person must have on, and never take off, a set of eye protection. The other was for double heavy duty ear protection to be worn for the entirety of the testing run. Those two items were not needed with this new type of weapon. Even though it was a laser weapon the energy frequency was not even close to being in the visible range of humans. This meant that the testing weapon did not even give a flash of any kind to let the VIP's know if the weapon had fired or had broken somehow. It was only by looking at the targets on the wall that they could see the damage to the target armor plate. The red circle painted on it now had three glowing circles burned at its center.

Apollo was ready to explain the shot spread, but he waited for the rumble about them to start first. "You can see the spread of the damage on the target plate? We had hoped that we can use the burst capability of the weapon, to spread out the impacting shots. It should increase the chances of hitting a heavy maneuvering target at least some of the time. The pilot will have the ability to turn this system off, say like if they are firing on warships or other large targets. Then, they will need to put all the punch in one spot of the target. The thinking is that this burst mode will increase the odds of taking out more than one Raider or Missile with a single pull of the trigger." Lee gave another sly smile as he continued talking. "They are light speed weapons after all, and dodging should not be that easy. All this needs is a pilot with good eye and a light touch on the trigger."

The group of leaders walked the thirty meters to get a better look at the targets, and also look more closely at the damage done to the chunk of hull from a Cylon Heavy Raider. It was easy to see that each of the three holes were blown or melted completely through the salvaged Cylon armor. It was an impressive display, but something in the back of Kelly's mind kicked in, and his eyes went narrow for a few seconds. He turned slightly, and looked over to the younger Adama in his own Commander's uniform.

"What is the cyclic rate of fire, the power supply, and the storage capability of your energy storage medium?" Kelly tried to make eye contact with the Colonial as he spoke.

The younger Adama turned to look at the Earther without letting anything show on his face. He had been expecting these types of questions to come from the Earthers. If anyone would think to ask them today, it was the Earthers who had the most experience with these types of weapons. So it made the most sense that they would be the ones to ask the hardest questions. All of the Colonials would have just been in awe at seeing a real life DEW on a Viper. If this had been in the time before the Cylons came back, today would have been celebrated as a hallmark change in warfighting capabilities all across the whole of human controlled space.

Lee quickly brought up the information the Earther had asked about. "We have been able to get the rate of fire up to about seven cycles a second in each of the lasing tubes. However, it is set to only put three shots in a second of output. That is per pull of the trigger. The math says that doing it that way will work best for the energy budget of the Viper platform. Energy storage and supply have been the last major issues we had to work through. The weapon and support structure are large and the total mass is almost the same as the whole KEW system we want to replace. We had hoped at first, to save some mass by being able to remove some of the counter recoil systems the Viper needs to use the KEW's effectively."

Lee gave a shrug, and noticed the others were listening to what he was saying. "But when we did that, it turns out those systems are tied into the overall maneuvering systems on both of the Viper class craft. We don't know yet what will happen if we change that on any new built Mark VIIs. For right now, it's not that big of an issue so I'm advising that we just leave it be for now. As to the power supply issue, we have it set up so that each weapon is designed to accept one of the 'Long E-Clips' as its primary energy supply when the craft are launched into combat."

Lee then pointed out a bulge that ran down from one engine and to the weapons mount. It was slight, and it most likely would not have been noticed by anyone. That is, anyone besides another Viper pilot or deck crew. "We have run a heavy duty power cable from the power generator on each of the three engines, to the back of the weapons mount. It will supply a trickle charge to each of the E-Clips to recharge it after any firing of the weapons."

The younger Adama knew what was going to come next. That was because he had asked the same question to the human form Cylon who had been helping on that part of the project. "You can get twenty bursts per E-Clip, and it recharges at a rate of about one burst every two to three minutes. That's while it's pulling power off the engine. The rate of recharging the E-Clips is going to depend on the demands being put on the bird's engines in combat. The harder someone is pushing the Viper, the less power can be put into recharging the weapons. Some numbers were run, and even if someone was a hotdog like Starbuck was on the stick of the Viper, it should increase the time on station by twenty percent in the worst case missions with the self-recharging power supply taken into account."

Lee looked over to Laura's assistant, Tory. She was the one that normally worked with numbers. "Another area that this type of weapon will help in our overall defensive capabilities of the fleet, is in the production of KEW ammunitions for fleet defense. The close in weapons turrets on the battlestars use the same ammunition types and it has always been a juggle on who would get the limited ammunition we could make in the fleet. Do we put them in the Close in Weapons bunkers or do we put it into the Vipers that are out there taking out Raiders and Heavy Raiders before they got closer? I hope that now that we can start making these new weapons, it will cut down on that issue, for once."

Kelly was nodding, more to himself, than the speaking warship commander. "So you can make all of the items to support this design. That is very impressive!" Kelly was thinking that if things worked out even half of the way the Colonials wanted them to, the Cylons, and anyone else, were going to find the Colonials a lot tougher opponent to have to deal with the next time things went hostile.

The older Adama stepped in when he heard the slight misstatement from his son and saw that Kelly had misunderstood both what his son had said, and had meant by his statement. "We can make everything for the weapons but the E-Clips for the energy storage the weapons will use. Those we're going to have to trade with your people to get more. But we would like to look at working out how to make more, a lot more. I think it would be another area that we can combine our experience to come up with something that is workable for our needs."

Kelly turned slightly so he could see both of the Adamas at the same time without needing to be move his head all of the time. He felt that he needed to let these people know exactly how big of a deal coming up with this weapon was in real life. He let his head shake from side to side, just a little bit and his eyes went back to the weapon mounted on the Viper.

"Admiral, I think there were only about a dozen places back home that could make those types of weapons when we left. I know of only about the same number of companies back home that can make pulse lasers of any kind in the first place. You and your people have done it in less than a year after finding out that the weapons were possible to make in the first place. Sure some of my people helped, but this is just amazing. That you have been able to pull this off, and you have done it without a full support system."

Kelly had a small smile on his face now. He and his co-leaders had been worried that the weapons technology edge would eventually wear away against the Cylons as the weapons that they had come with to this new place wore out, broke, and could not be replaced anymore. This one new weapon was not as powerful as what Major Weston was in command of. But the Colonials could make new ones like this to replace damaged ones. All while his people could not do anything remotely close to similar.

"Commander Adama, if you can link these two twin cannons to fire as one weapon, that would be enough firepower to take out any of the Cylon small craft types we have seen very quickly." Kelly was wanting to make a slight point.

Kelly saw the Lee Adama was nodding his head in agreement. Kelly went forward with his line of thinking after only a slight pause. "What would happen if you just kept it at only two weapons on your Mk VII's instead of replacing all three cannons with pulse lasers? Having only two weapons to charge would speed up the recharging time for both weapons instead of three. It would also increase your ability to rapidly field your modified weapons since you could now field a third craft instead of just two with the new weapons. If you need to hit something harder, can you modify your Raptors to carry something like four of these weapons? You could put them in a type of gun pack right? My last question, is how many of these weapons do you think you can produce in say a month?" Kelly was worried that with all of the requirements needed to maintain the fleet, the Colonials' limited manufacturing capability would be overtasked just making a few of the new weapons per month.

Apollo pulled out a thin computer that was Earther made out of his jacket pocket and checked his notes very quickly. He made a few new quick notes to check on lowering the number of lasers on the Mark VII. He also made notes about other pluses or minuses it might have in application. When he looked up, he first looked at his father before saying something. His father had told him, back when this was being planned out, that this whole thing was his show to run as part of his development as a proper battlestar commander.

The older Adama gave his son a slight nod to let him know to go ahead. Lee gave his father a slight twist of the lips before looking back at the Earther leader. "We are hoping to be able to get production up to about twenty weapons, every thirty days or so. The answer to the question of just using two sets of twin laser cannons, in place of three KEW is rough, but I would say it could add as much as between fifty and sixty percent increase in combat time. We have looked at modifying one of the Raptors with two sets of twin cannons mounted under each wing. They have a better power budget built into the basic design, but it would cut way down on the range and the number of jumps they could perform on a given load of fuel. The idea right now is to not put too much time into that side project. Raptors just cannot hold their own in a battle against massed Raiders. I, as a battlestar commander, would rather launch another Viper in place of a single Raptor. At least for most missions that we can foresee." In the Colonial Fleet, the Viper was the long ranged teeth of the fleet.

The Earthers were nodding as the younger Adama spoke to the group of VIP's as a whole. He decided to go ahead, and ask a question Lee had just thought of. "So we might be able to make one weapon every two days. That's good. It would be better though, if we could set up a full blown manufacturing line just for them, instead of hand building each one in a one room shop somewhere. When we get to where we are going, we might want to set up a real production line for any improved versions that we can figure out in the future."

"I understand power budgets Captain." Kelly said with a sigh. He thought that the elder Adama was setting his sights a little too low, about getting the weapons fielded to his forces. Kelly's head snapped over to look at the Viper on display, and something jumped out to him.

"Have you checked out the battery system in one of the Chipwell Challenger suits that you picked up on the open market? Two things come right to mind about your power budget issues. First, is that the Chipwell brand of power supply and storage, it's of a lot lower tech level than what's need to make new or replacement E-Clips. It might be easier to reproduce something like that if we can find the extra manufacturing space to do the work for you. Or you might want to just strip it out of the suit, and build some kind of housing in the troop/cargo area of a Raptor. It would take some work to run the power lines to feed those weapons, but it might be a workable short term option to look at. If you're only going to have a few craft armed this way, I think something along those lines might work. Our tech team did something similar to get the power supplies for the fishing vessels we used working." The words were falling out of his mouth machine gun fast.

The older Adama looked over his glasses at the other ship's commander. He was surprised with what the blue water commander had just suggested. Those suits and more than a few other items had been acquired through Kara's luck at the gaming tables. "We only have six of the suits you're talking about. To be honest, we haven't looked at them as a source of parts for other projects to use. So far we've just thought of using them as quick heavy combat response units. That is if we run into any more Cylon boarding parties down the road. You have a good point, and we will have to weigh the different options that something like that could give us."

Bill made a soft chuckle, and when he saw the look he was getting from the others standing around him, he elaborated. "I was enamored with them when we first were able to put those suits under my military command. It was an ugly surprise when we found out exactly how they compared to most of the other suits your people are wearing. It was hard enough to find a dozen volunteers to train on them. Right now it's a moot point anyway, because of the lack of these new weapons. After we get a squadron of forty Vipers rearmed, it might be time to look at a modified Raptor. I can see them using these new and powerful weapons as anti-ship strike assets."

Kelly nodded to the Admiral. He was again thankful for the two hours that he had spent every night in classes over the last few months. Those classes were for teaching the Earthers how to speak and more importantly understand the Colonials without the use of electronic translators. The classes on English started right after the Colonial classes concluded each night. They were just as packed with Colonials learning about the Earthers as the previous classes were the other way around.

"We understand having limited resources, Admiral. We are still working on those Cylon jump drives we were able to collect. I could not even give you a timeline when we will have completed the studies, much less when or even if we could build more of them. I do know that we have been able to repair a few of them. It was by cannibalizing parts from some of the known non-operative drives."

That was the end of the display, and the tour of the largest known human warship left in operation went on. They were shown the Viper launch tubes, the fighter's production area, jump engines, and finally the CIC that commanded the great warship. It was good for everyone on the battlestar's crew to see the two different groups working together. Word would start to spread at the speed of the grapevine around to every ship in the rag tag fleet. This was viewed as good news for most of the Colonials among the fleet.


	6. Chapter 6 something broke

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and follow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 6 Something Broke**

Somewhere in deep space near New Caprica

884 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 3 years 9 month AT

This area of space was almost at the absolute temperature of cold, but at the same time it was very colorful. The reds, yellow, and a crazy mix of other colors, all together tended to evoke feelings of warmth. It was as if someone was sitting next to the gods' own campfire, soaking in warmth that could be felt throughout one's whole body. The light from many stars backlit the different gases in this part of this strange nebula.

This area was also closer to the edge of the slowly shrinking gas and dust cloud. So close that even light from stars outside of the nebula were adding their feeble light to the spectacle around them. This little star factory was still working up to making its next wave of massive light bulbs. In a few tens of thousands of years, perhaps. That meant that it was still a kaleidoscope of color, light, and shadows. And it would remain so for a few thousand more years.

Then in a flash of light, and a quick wave of energy, a slightly blurring motion erupted into this majestic scene. A long, oddly alligator shaped metal monster just popped into being in this area of the gas cloud. All where there had been nothing just an instant before. As it floated in the emptiness of space, the millions of tons of metal started to pitch downwards at its front end. While its nose was dropping, the ship at the same time began yawing to one side. The entire ship started going into a slow uncontrolled spin.

Small but powerful thrusters fired all over the massive vessel, stabilizing it and stopping it from spinning further. Two Vipers shot immediately out through the tubes, soon followed by a single Raptor. The latter launched even as the massive, metallic, bread-shaped box finished being moved out of its protective enclosure in the side of the warship. It locked into place as the Raptor assumed its position.

Only one of the long Hangar pods deployed from the old Colonial warship. It was a sure sign that this ship had seen combat, lots of combat. And without being able to get any of the much needed dry-dock time to repair it. From the outside, that was not the only sign of distress from the over one thousand, four hundred meter long spaceship. Inside the ship, it was a completely different story. The CIC, in the center of the great alligator style head, was a mass of noises and lights flashing from all over the room. In the center of all the commotion was a single figure.

The Old Man looked calm and collected as his staff went about their jobs. Saul Tigh was in his usual form, riding the staff to do their jobs. And coming down on those who were not working as they should, or up to the level that he and Bill expected of them. In other words, he was doing his job as the XO of the battlestar. His ever sharp tongue was quickly striking out to fillet those unlucky enough to be seen as falling short of the expectations of the great ship's taskmasters. What most people did not know was that this was when he was the happiest. It might sound like he was going to pop a blood vessel, but inside he was feeling pure joy at being needed.

The sound in the metal walled room took a forty decibel drop in volume as the last of the post jump check list was completed. Then a voice from Damage Control spoke up, commanding the room's attention with information that needed to be given to the person that was both the ship's commander and the last Colonial Admiral known to be alive.

They had only been at this new location for a very busy three minutes and forty-five seconds. "Sir! The breach in Connector Tube Three has been sealed. Power supply from the Galactica to the Lucky Find is out, but a crew is working on tracking down the issue."

Just as the person was taking a breath, the ship itself spoke to the crew. The sound was a wail of pain letting her crew know not all was well with her. Many would now believe that this old war horse had a soul and could feel herself.

Bill looked at Saul, he had been in battles on warships before, and one part of his mind had already told him that it was bad, but not lethal. At least, not yet anyway. "I think we just broke something Saul. I think we need to figure out what part of my ship just fell off."

Before Saul could move more than a meter and a half, the damage control station updated the ships display and gave an oral update. "Damage Control Team Three is now leaving from the Number Six Airlock on Main Hangar Support Structure Number One. Earther Exit Team One is preparing to exit from the Raptor hanger. They want to do a visual inspection of the hull of their ship. They report 'no system issues' but will do the requested post jump check list."

Adama nodded in the general direction of where the voice had come from. He was busily looking at half a dozen screens mounted high over his head above the main plotting table. "Keep me posted. Stand down from Action Stations in all areas that are not currently experiencing any issues."

Adama looked down at the countertop screen, and watched as sections of the great old warship went from action stations red to standby clear. Box by box the diagram changed before his eyes until only the sections where the battlestar was grafted to the cargo ship were still in the ominous color of red. Adama balled up his fists, and rested them both onto the table top display, his body slightly hunching over the display. That was the only outward sign that showe d he was not happy with what he had seen of the information displayed before him. It was better than it could have been, but it still was not great in the Admiral's opinion.

A different voice sounded off right behind Mr. Gaeta and his navigation station about five minutes after the update from the Battle Damage station. "Jump signature, big one!"

It was a tense few seconds, before the relief could be heard in the voice that spoke to the whole CIC. Saul's finger was hovering over the button that would have sent the entire crew racing back to action stations. It, and the hand attached to the finger returned to his side when some more information came in.

"Sir we have a Colonial IFF. It's the Pegasus right where she is supposed to be, and ten minutes on the button early. Do you think Commander Adama was worried about us?" The last part had been spoken in a very light tone to defuse any sting that his words might have caused. He had only been saying out loud what a lot of the other CIC crew were thinking to themselves.

This was the XO's lane, so it was Saul who spoke to the command staff. "Contact them, and give them a detailed update on our situation. Keep them informed of any changes as they come in. Let Apollo know that we might need some of his damage control staff. And to get them ready."

Saul looked over at the Admiral, and possibly still his friend. "We don't want to get caught out here alone if it turns out we can't jump again for a while. It was a good call of him, to come out here a little early." Saul knew and felt that he still had a lot to prove to Bill Adama before he was accepted back as the ship's real XO. He had no idea how long it was going to be before they were friends again, if ever.

Adama nodded to the XO, but did not say anything. Bill did not need to. He just watched the screens, reading the reports as they came to him. He started rocking his clenched fist back and forth on the plotting table's edge as he read those new reports. He was powerless, and it was up to the skills of his crew to fix and inspect the hunk of movable metal. He knew that each division and section not working on the current laundry list of issues would still be running drills to keep their people as sharp as they could. Even in what might seem like some down time.

The testing had gone so well up until now, thought the Colonial Admiral. The first tactical jump had gone without a hitch, or so much as a burp. They had taken a full day checking out both ships for any signs of damage after that jump, and found none. The same had been true of the second, and even the third jump that they had made to test the new hull configuration. The last short test jump had been to get them back into orbit from one light year away. Everything had been going so well that Adama had been hoping that they could start the next phase a lot earlier than they had planned for.

Bill wanted to start moving items that had been removed from the cargo/passenger ship, so that they could get her into planetary orbit back on board the grey hull. He was getting impatient, and had pushed to have this test moved up by a full week. The clock was ticking for the Cylons' return, and they were running out of time quickly.

Adama was lost in thought. So he had no real idea how long he was watching and pretending to read the displays under his gaze without talking to anyone. That was until his instincts kicked in, and he looked up from the glowing table top to see what change to the space around him part of his mind had noticed.

The kid, at least she was a kid to Adama's older eyes, walked up to the table he was standing beside. This was not normal, and very few people in the Fleet would do something so brave as walk up to the Admiral. At least, not without an invitation or command to do so first. She was nervous, but she did not show it to most eyes. She made a simple motion, to show that she had a message tablet in her hands.

Adama's eyes were drawn to the movement of the young woman's hands. So when she made her own slight nod and handed the object to him, he was looking right at her with a questioning gaze. She did not wilt or shy away from Admiral's full bore command gaze. That was a good sign in the eyes of both Bill and Saul. You should not be scared to do your job. Not if you had a position on the CIC crew of a battlestar. With the eye contact and nod, she knew that she had done the right thing, no matter how hard her heart was pounding in her chest.

She closed the distance, and passed the pad to the Admiral at almost hip level. In a low voice, she addressed the admiral and lord of the fleet in a voice as steady as she could both make and keep. "Sir, the Chief asked that you come down to the airlock near the main support structure. He said that he needed to show you something in person. He passed these images with a written request that he only wanted you to see them. He did not use the official system to send the data, but instead sent a private message directly to my personal station."

She might have been young to be in the CIC of a battlestar, but she had been in space a long time already. She already knew that when your engineering chief sent a private message to your Commander, that was something that was scary special. Something along the lines of... _Your ship is going to explode if your captain made the wrong call at the right time._

Adama took the tablet and nodded again to the messenger. The young Staff enlisted woman turned on her boot heels and went back to her station, her job done for now. Adama watched her leave, and looked over to the gruff old XO standing across the table from him. He got the other man's attention by raising an eyebrow. In a low voice, so that it would not carry to others, he addressed the other officer.

"Saul, didn't she transfer over from the Daru Mozu a few weeks ago?" The Daru Mozu, also known as Refinery ship number 322, was another one of the unsung ships that the rag tag fleet relied on to function.

Saul did not have to look around to know who his boss was talking about. So, in his patented gruff voice, he was able to answer right away. "Yea, she was training on the Beast for the two supply runs. And then Apollo put her in for a transfer to us. She's had some very good evaluations from both ships, so far. I was kind of leery of her coming onto the CIC so young, but she was almost born in space."

Adama gave a small nod to his second in command in understanding. "I think we need to keep an eye on her. She might be a good addition for that officer training course you were working on for me before the Cylons found us again. She might have what it takes to be put on a command track of some kind. You never know when we might need to have a few trained replacements with experience on a warship."

Saul Tigh nodded, and accessed the console at his side. He made the notes about the young woman, which now looked to have a possible future as a Colonial Fleet officer. When he was done, he looked back up, and felt something wrong. Then Saul became very scared for the first time. At least, in the past few months any way. The look on Bill Adama face was the same as when they received word of the renewed Cylon attack on their home planets.

Saul felt his heart drop. _"Something the Chief sent must be some very bad news to get a reaction of that level from Bill,"_ thought one of the few human from Cylons in Colonial Fleet. There was only one way to find out. So he did what he always had done before, to find something out. That was charge forward, head first, into the situation. Saul walked around the plotting table and made to look over Bill Adama's shoulder to see the item in his hands.

"What did the Chief need?" Saul was very worried that he did not want to know what had scared the Admiral. But it was his job to know things that did not make him happy, all of the time. At least he had pitched his voice low, just as he had been trained to do, so that it would not carry too far past the only ears that needed to hear it.

Adama looked up, and then passed the tablet over to the second in command of this battlestar. Bill made sure to covertly look around the two of them. He wanted to make sure that no one was too close to overhear what he was about to say. He was not going to fully trust that he could keep his voice low for the next few minutes.

"The Chief said that the damage is more severe than he first thought. I think we both should get in some suits, and talk to him face to face." He had spoken very softly, but did not whisper. Bill knew that whispers carried farther than one would think. The tone alone should be enough to let Saul know that there was major trouble awaiting them when they got to where they were going.

Saul was flipping through the dozen or so images on the tablet, and he was trying not to open his mouth as his brain processed the images his eyes were feeding it. He had no idea what he would say, but he knew it would only make things worse, no matter what words leaked out from between his lips. The only thing that he knew as fact was that there was only one thing he could do that was least likely to make things worse than they seemed to be. He just nodded, and then started to follow the fleet commander off the CIC.

Bill was already at the end of the table, and looked off to one side of the CIC. "Mr. Gaeta, you have the deck. The XO and I are heading over to the Main Hangar Support Number One to see the Chief. If anything comes up, you can reach us there on a damage control line."

Saul was just so very glad, that he only had to follow his onetime best friend. He had been shaken to the core by the images he had just seen. He was also wondering again if he was really a Cylon. Because machines should not be as scared as he was right now. As the CIC hatch closed behind him, he just shook his head and kept walking to the Battle Damage suit locker. As luck would have it, it the nearest one was not that far from CIC.

* * *

It was half an hour later, with a group of ten people, all in Colonial deep space suits, that the shoe fell. Powerful hand held lights were playing across the massive metal beast that had the job of pulling the starboard hangar pod in close to the main hull of the battlestar. All so that its jump field could adequately cover the huge moving hunk of metal that was the hangar pod. It was only with very well trained eyes that they could see something was wrong with the massive moving arm and the gears around them. The massive machines that could move that much mass could not be damaged easily, but it could be done. Normally it was only done when the great ship had her keel broken in heavy combat. Now it looked like there might be an addition to that short list of times when it might be heavily damaged.

The lights built into their helmets let them see who among them was talking. When the transmitter was active, a blue light would glow. Humans were social animals and it helped if they could see the face of whoever was talking around them. Humans also tended to turn to face the person who was talking. So all eyes were on the human form Cylon that was once more the deck chief. And a lot more for the old battlestar whose massive metal hull was wrapped around them.

"If you look at the heavy connecting welds near the cross member second from the end, and then move back about a meter. You can see that's where the largest cracks start to form." Tyrol was playing a powerful hand held light as he tried to direct the eyes of those around him.

As Tyrol played the light down the length of the massive arm and gears to illuminate them, he started taking about what his people had found. "I did a few checks at different areas, and it's all the same. Luckily they are mostly still in the micro scale, at least for now."

He now turned towards the Admiral to face him square on. _"This was going to hurt the old man."_ Bill Adama did not like it when someone talked bad about his girl. And this was going to be bad, very bad.

"Sir, the metal is just not up to Mil-spec. I did half a dozen spot checks and my crew is doing a few hundred more. And so far, they are all the same in the frame areas. She just is not made with Mil spec alloy. I think she might have been rushed during building. I know during the first war, they were hurting for ships like her to turn back the Cylons. They must have cut some corners to get her to the fleet on time, or close to budget. I don't know which it might be. In the end, what we do know is that we now have some major issues we are going to have to deal with."

Adama took a deep breath, almost a sigh. It was picked up, and transmitted to, the others around him without his noticing it. When he started talking, everyone could hear the sadness in his voice.

"So Chief, will she be able to jump us again?" Bill was thinking about how he was going to get everyone off the old girl, and that he might have to abandon his lady out there. He heart was sinking at the thought that his grand old lady would have to be left out here in this odd nebula until it was added to a planet or something else the nebula was helping make.

The Chief had been asking that same question to himself when he sent the first message for the Admiral to come down to see the problem. Now he was glad he was not going to be caught flat footed. "Sir, when the large cracks formed, they shifted the whole mass of the Lucky Find to one side. Just before you got down here, I had the shift measured. I had no idea how much she had shifted, but the whole ship heard the shifting of all of that mass. As it turns out, it was not as bad as I first thought it might be. It might use up every brace we have left on board, but give me two days, Sir. I think we can do a fix on it, no problem."

Tyrol now turned away from a looking at a long crack running down a metal wall, and faced his commander more fully. "Before you ask again, Sir. Yes, if we get jumped by the Cylons out here... Yes, we can do some short jumps to get away from them if we need to before we complete the work. You see sir, it was that long jump we just did that got us. The cracks had been there for I don't know how many years. But when you do a maximum jump like we just did, it stresses all the structure members. It was just too much, on top of the ripped off the hangar pod and everything else all the battles have caused her. Don't get me wrong. We are frakked till we get her fixed. She is not combat ready. And it's going to take some work before I would even call her safe-ish for a full ranged jump. If this had happened back in the homeworlds, they might have just cut her up for recycling and not even bother putting her up as a museum, because of the embarrassment it would cause when word of her issues leaked out."

Tyrol stopped talking all at once, and he was into thinking mode in a blink of an eye. He always had a memory like a steel trap, and it had served him well before. He now did not know if that was the Cylon part of him, or the human side that had this trait. And right now he did not care what part of his heritage it came from. It really did not matter, but now he was recalling something one of the other models of Cylons had told him some time ago. After the memory blocks had been removed, he had found himself with a drive to find out which memories were real. This had led to a few supervised interviews with the more agreeable Cylon POWs.

The one that was coming to mind right now was about how the Cylon basestars repaired themselves. It was now known that the massive ships worked on major damage without any need of seeing a support facility. They had been taking a break from working together on another project, when the subject had wandered around to ship repair somehow. He started to do a chain of thought exercise, as he worked the data. "It just might work, if they had enough of the right stuff. If they ran out, what would they do?" Galen felt his eyebrows start to close together as he tried to come up with a better plan, and he could not.

Adama was nodding along with what the chief was saying, and took the silence to mean that he had said all he wanted to say for now. He had no idea what might be going on behind those eyes. "Okay Chief. Take as many people as you need from the Pegasus, and any equipment you might need to get her ready. I want us back to being able to jump in twenty-four hours or less. I want my lady fixed. We will figure out a permanent solution later. After we get back to the rest of the fleet, and away from the edge of this nebula." Bill's directions covered the possibility that not everything could be fixed in a timely manner. He had little doubt that if he pushed too hard, it would cause more issues in the short term. Tyrol would let him know, and would know what to do if it turned out that it was not possible.

Tyrol nodded his head in agreement. He had to get more head movement going than he normally did for it to be visible to those around him. He had been in these types of suits for literally years, counting all the hours and days that he had spent in them together. So it was second nature to him to make the motion. "Sir, I will give it my best. I just hope the additional crews from the Pegasus will take orders from me, and not cause more issues than we are trying to fix."

Adama's voice got very still, when it came over everyone's built in speakers. The kind of still that air gets when all of the water has been frozen out of it. He was not happy, and he was going to make a statement that was stronger than any law written by man's hand.

"Chief if you have any issues at any time with someone not following your orders, you are to contact CIC as soon as it is safe and not life threatening to do so, and let me know. I will leave word to wake me up no matter what time it might be, if you make that call. You are the Galactica's Senior NCO. I will not tolerate insubordination in my fleet at any level. Or on any ship within a fleet under my command. Chief, you're part of my fleet. Just like before, and just like Athena was. If someone has a problem with it, than I will handle it. And let me tell you! They will frakking not like it one bit if I have to intervene!" Bill Adama was not yelling, but his voice was speaking in capital letters. The right hand of the Gods had just spoken, and it demanded to be followed.

Tyrol took the statement at face value, and to heart. Adama statement had been on an open channel, instead of the lower powered close ranged private channel. That meant everyone in a suit, in a Viper, in a Raptor, or on the CIC had heard what he said. Most people listening in had picked up on the tone the Admiral had used. And very few thought that the Admiral had forgotten about his being on that particular channel. You did not need to send out a memo when a rumor can reach more ears and do it faster.

The Chief had been around the Colonial Fleet for a long time, and everyone knew that. Now, Tyrol did not doubt that if he reported anyone not following his directions, there would be some corrective actions in that someone's near future. After all, he may be an enlisted, but he had earned his rank of Chief Petty Officer before this whole Final Five mess came about. As the senior ranked NCO in either of the two remaining warships in the Colonial Fleet, he used to have quite a bit of authority. The Admiral's words simply made clear that in this matter he would be acting under Adama's favor and would be speaking with his voice. No matter what might have come before.

And one did not simply dismiss Adama's favored. After all, Starbuck was quite well known for being insubordinate. She was still around, and had even made it to the CAG position on a battlestar. It was even money that she would have that job again in a very short time.

Tyrol smiled and did a bobbing motion with his head. "YES SIR!" That was all he needed to say to his commander. The walk back to the nearest airlock was quiet among the group of ten. The only thing that could be heard was the breathing sounds coming from each of the people. That was as they walked through the outer hull of the old battlestar. The magnificent view was wasted on them, as each was lost in their own thoughts about the damage they had just witnessed.

* * *

It was dozen hours later that a Raptor appeared in the system that was holding the rest of the Colonial Fleet. They had all stayed, tucked way back in the hidden system many light years away from the pair of warships. The arrival of the small craft two hours after the twin battlestars were supposed to have made it back to the systems was noticed by all. It was met with nervous communication requests coming from almost every ship left in operation from the Twelve Colonies of Kobol.

The Raptor did not respond to any of them. Instead it transmitted a request to land on Colonial One. The request was granted and the little craft landed on the President's transport and home. The pilot reported the status of the two battlestars to the current civilian leader, just as he had been directed to do. The little craft refueled and was out of the system in another flash of light not long after delivering the message. This all happened within the span of less than an hour after the first flash of it entering the system. By then rumors were flying around the fleet faster than the little craft could fly between the stars.

Laura Roslin knew that word would get out that the Raptor had brought news from the two battlestars. The timeline for the final test had been kept as quiet as they could. And it was just like keeping a secret in any small town or small school around the universe. It was impossible for the details to be kept only to the intended people with a need to know. Now the entire fleet knew that the battlestars were late. Late returning warships made everyone nervous. Particularly when those were the only warships that could protect the whole fleet.

After the little scout craft had jumped back to its mother ship, Laura planned to wait some more before taking the next step. The Quorum had requested contact with her within the half hour after the warships were supposed to be due. Even though they had not identified the reason for the contact requests they kept sending to Colonial One, she had a good idea. She was watching the number of unanswered messages go from slowly growing in numbers, to more like a flash fire of movement in the counting display. She looked at the clock on the wall, and set a time in her head for what she wanted to do. It would be a little over an hour after the Raptor had left again. She would need almost all of that time to set some things up. Well, that and a little extra. She was going to use this to show the members of the Quorum that _she_ was the leader of their people.

Laura Roslin walked into the next room a full two minutes before she had planned to in her head. The room that she entered had been set up as press room and sleeping area for a dozen members of the Press and their camera people. It had taken some time to get the area remodeled for this, after what Baltar had ordered done to it not long after the first landing. She had not told them that she would be coming out to talk to them. And neither did any member of her staff do so. They were just told that an update report was about to be given, and to be ready for it. Tory had secretly enjoyed misleading what she had come to think of a pack of jackals.

Laura and Tory had taken some pains to make sure the wording was such that the press would think this update was only about minor things. Luckily she had been able to get some new clothes from the Earthers that fit her. They were a different cut and style than she was used to, but sometimes it was good to have a fresh look when you dropped a hammer on someone. With the Earthers helping with the fresh food situation, the battlestars' organic material processors were making things other than the ration bars they usually produced. Things like fabric for clothes, new for the first time since the ships had fled the space and the planets that they had known. Production was still in the early stages, and the clothes would not last that long, but they would be new and of a cut that was familiar to other Colonials' eyes.

She had picked this outfit because of the fact that it was an Earther looking outfit and not a Colonial looking one. Though she did draw the line at the wool socks that were supposed to go with the outfit, it was nice to have a few new things in a woman's closets. From the reports that she had just finished reading not that long ago, the new wool coming out of the Earthers' few sheep was helping a lot with keeping the kids warm on this cold planet. She wanted to reinforce the fact that they were not alone. That they had a few powerful friends in the local area. Even if the battlestars were not visible just now in the sky, they were not alone and defenseless against any attackers.

By the time she reached the curtain that separated the press from the governing offices, she already was smiling and she started talking to the room even as the curtains moved. It had become standard, some time ago, that any brief would be broadcast to the whole fleet, even if it was for low level and dull topics. There had been a drastic shortage of news for months now, so it was filling a gap that needed filling badly among the people living in the ships. It was just that the important ones would be talked about beforehand a lot more often. You would be surprised how much a modern society's members have a need for information of any kind. She had her political smile on today, and was using a sweat motherly sounding voice.

As she addressed this pack of blood sucking daggits, the smile stayed on her face. "We had a little change of plans this afternoon ladies and gentlemen. I will be giving the briefing update today. I hope you all don't mind the change." She had a little twinkle in her eyes. _"And if you do care, it does not matter one little bit",_ she thought in the safety of her own mind.

The group of press people went from relaxed or even bored, to fully engaged in a few heart beats. All as they made noises about greeting the civilian leader of the fleet and what remained of all of their people that they knew were still alive. She was watching them almost as much as they were watching her, and they knew it. It was a game that she was better at playing then they were, and they also knew that little fact. Most of them even accepted this information as fact, if only grudgingly in a few cases.

After being given a greeting, the supporting crews just did a quick check of the equipment and started wondering amongst themselves what shoe was about to drop on them. The journalists shelved whatever questions they might have had on the tips of their tongues, and instead buzzed their bosses to let them know that something big was up. This briefing had gone from minor to major in the move of a simple plastic curtain. Laura was very far ahead on the score board between the press and herself today. And she intended to keep it that way.

Laura could tell when the group was ready, after so long doing this dance with them. It was amazing how much she remembered after her break, when Baltar had held her job temporarily. _"Right about now, I think."_ She shifted her posture subtly, which she knew the press crews would understand as a sign that the starting point of her prepared statement was at hand.

"I wanted to give the fleet an update on the test jumps that the Galactica has been conducting with support from the Pegasus. Today, as I'm sure most of the fleet knows, was the longest, and last, of the series of test jumps that the fleet flagship was going to be making after the addition of the Lucky Find to her side. This was to make sure that the latest modifications done to the Galactica after our liberation were safe. I don't think I need to tell most of our people, out there how badly we need the room that the repaired battlestar gave up access to. I'm sure that most of you all would also agree, that having more cabin mates would be a little more uncomfortable than it already is."

This got a round of laughter from the assembled group. Now that all of the ships and crews had time and more importantly resources, the ships on the ground were being refitted to make them more suitable for long term travel. They were going from just carrying people from place to place, into real living spaces for those biological forms carried inside their metal hulls. Some of the rooms that only had space for one person while they were fleeing the Cylons could now accommodate a whole family group, or a number of roommates. It was a lot better, at least, compared to what it was like when they first went on the run from their home systems. They still were close quarters, but now no one was sleeping on a ship's bare deck or in a chair.

She was not going to tell the press everything. And she was not going to bring up that they had gotten the schematics for modifying the battlestar from two possible oracles. They were already looking into that, and she had confirmed that they were looking in the right area. What she was going to do today was give them the bad news. That way, they would not be able to say later that she was covering something up.

"We received word that the last test jump did run into some issues. But that they are working on them, at this time. I was also told that, more importantly, no one was hurt when the issues came up."

Laura could see, that what she said had struck home. Before they could recover their bearings, she struck again. "In the message that I received from Admiral Adama, he said that they should be back to us in twenty hours or so. He is also keeping the Beast with him for now, because their current location is almost at the edge of a thin part of the Nebula that surrounds us and blocks the Cylons from finding us."

That started the mumbling from the press pool going around the room. First in using the unofficial nickname of the Pegasus, then it got louder when the information really started to sink in. That they were going to be without the only two warships in the fleet to protect them if the Cylons showed up again. Laura knew that what she was seeing among the press people was going to be repeated, all around the rest of the fleet.

Laura let it work out this way, for a few more seconds. "They are closer to the edge of the nebula, so they are in a more exposed position to attack from any remaining Cylons. I agree with the Admiral. I also agree that being gone for less than a full day is not that big of a deal for the rest of the fleet and our Earther allies to have to handle. The Cylons know that we kicked their tin heads into food bowls the last time we crossed swords. We are not defenseless while the Admiral is out testing his ships."

Now Laura was going to drive in exactly how well defended they truly are. "Half of the Vipers and Raptors carried by both battlestars have stayed behind and are not out with their mother ships. That does not even count what the Earthers working with us have in their breast pockets. This type of event was not a surprise to the Admiral, or to myself, or anyone else that worked in the planning of these test jumps."

That part was not exactly the whole truth, but the people in the press pool did not need to know that part. "These were test jumps, and sometimes things go wrong. When you test, sometimes it is better to have the failure now. While we still have time to fix them. Without overstressing the crews or the few support ships we have access to. I know what you all are thinking."

Laura started wagging a single bony finger at the group of journalists. "What would happen, if we have an emergency? One which we cannot handle on our own? If that happens, one of the Raptors will jump to their location. And it will bring the great Battlestar Pegasus down on their metal heads like the wrath of the gods themselves. The word that is used to describe this is ambush. " She was putting as much force as she could into her voice, and she knew that she was going to have a slightly wild look in her eyes. Then again, that was not always a bad thing.

She gave a very evil chuckle that she had not intended to give. But it slipped out anyway, so she decided to use it. "If we need both battlestars, they will come. The Cylons know what will happen if they send a full battle fleet at us. It will be destroyed like the one that they had in this system when Admiral Adama came back. I almost wish, those frakkers would show up again for round two. The Earthers could use another easily accessible supply of high quality and slightly used metal. They've been using them to make more armor for our ships to use, and they can start doing that again." She was on a roll and just let the words fall out of her mouth for a few seconds.

She could see that the group of press had relaxed some, and if they were relaxing then it was a good bet that the rest of the fleet would feel the same way. A few of the support crew for the press were even giving an evil grin in reply to hers behind the reporters' backs. Just as she had hoped. The rest of the fleet should be acting mostly the same way. _"Maybe I need to show a little more crazy during these things",_ thought Laura.

"Now, do I have any questions?" Normally she did not do this. Now, she thought she would risk it, with so few people in the room ready with items to ask their leader. But all of them were quick minded, and she knew that if she gave them too much time after those hammer blows, they would come up with questions. A lot of questions on a wide range of topics, some of which she did not want to answer just yet. This was a risky move, but she was confident that she could control them until she was ready to leave the room.

Only one hand came up, and it was not one that she had wanted to see right then. It seemed that this person, had made a habit of carrying water for Tom in the past. Laura did not know if the reporter knew that she was working for him, or it was just how she was making her money. Laura did not care which way she was bending. She thought that the reporter should know who she was working for.

A voice that was known to sound pleasing to the human ear. That is when it was passed through only a few filters before transmitting, asked the question after getting a nod from the person at the podium.

"So is it true? That all of the last human form infiltration Cylons have been returned to their former positions of power among us?" The reported gave a sly smile to the leader of the government. She knew that she had gotten one over on the powerful person. That was the only reason she liked this job. Well, the pay was also nice. She had found out that she liked trying to outsmart powerful people. And the more public setting that she did the outsmarting in, the better in her opinion.

 _"Yep that was straight out of Tom's play book, and why is part of me surprised to hear it come out of her mouth",_ thought Laura. "No, is the simple answer. But I know that you want more than that, when you open with that type of question."

She looked around the group of seated reports, and tilted her head down to look over her glasses at them. "I hope you're all having this be recorded? That way you can have it word for word, and not go picking and choosing what you reprint this time." She let a slight smile come to her lips, to take the sting out of her words.

Now that she had everyone's attention. She looked dead into the lens of the central camera before speaking again. "Tory, Saul Tigh, and Chief Tyrol have been accepted on parole, which was offered by the head of the Military and by myself. I will not go into the parole terms that each of them has agreed to separately. This is due to some legal issues which the lawyers on both sides have warned us about beforehand. The Earthers have some experience with this type of thing, so we are following their advice on this matter. If you have any questions about this type of parole, you will needed to seek some legal advice."

She could see that the press was smelling blood in the water, and were about to pounce on her. That is, if she did not head them off very quickly. "Terms of Parole are done between the Parolee and the legal entity putting them in prison, and are not to be published. That is, until after the terms have been completed, one way or the other, and if both parties agree to the release of that information. Our people have a legal precedent of a sealed punishment, so that is how we are handling it for now. We have established some checks and balances of our own, and I will not be saying to you what they are. You will publish them, and then someone might try to work out a way to beat them down the road. We would like to keep them a surprise, for now. I will tell you all now, that they are very real."

She did the looking over her glasses thing again, this time aimed at the camera. "I will also say that any one of them knows that if they are caught breaking the parole in any way, they know that they will be thrown out the nearest airlock. Or have a bullet in the back of their heads. And they will not be the choosing how they will be taken care of."

The last part had bit more venom in her tone than she had planned. One part of her mind noted that it was not an act. She still felt betrayed by Tory, just like Bill still felt about Saul, and Starbuck about Sam. But she was also happy that they were both back, and doing the jobs that they had proven capable of doing for so long. She did not know how long it would take, if ever, for the old friendship to come back. She could already feel that they were already slowly falling back into the old routine on most days. Then, on other days, it was not so easy.

The press crews were nodding their heads as they made notes on what she had said and how she had said it to go along with their reports. This was new information, and it was a boatload of it to come at them all at once. It would answer some lingering questions about the last human form Cylons that were starting to be called the Final Five by both Cylon POW's and the humans. Some of the captured Cylons were almost reverent when the topic of the Five were brought up in the POW's interviews. It was like they were almost as powerful as the one God they worshiped.

When it became known that some of the last human forms were back working with the humans, it caused a lot of issues in the fleet for the President and the Admiral. It would have been a lot worse if the Sons of Ares were still around in any numbers when three of the five human forms returned to their old jobs. But the Sons of Ares were now just small bunches of cold fertilizer in some battle scarred field on the planet below them. If there were ten low level members of that group left in the fleet, they probably had been spending all of their free time in the growing number of temples to Neptune and Poseidon around the fleet.

The woman sitting in the back of the room was not done yet, and asked a second question. All without any prompting or permission to do so. She had been very happy with herself at the response her first one had gotten from the whole room. "So is that why the other machines have not taken the Parole agreement? Is it because they might try something to finish what the other Cylons tried to do to us, back in the Colonies?" She could not help but let a smile come her face as she was talking. She noticed out of the corner of one eye, that almost half of the cameras had been turned to point at her. She was in the limelight, and she LOVED IT!

Laura let her lips tighten a bit, but only enough to draw just the right amount of attention. It was all play for the cameras. She wanted them to think that they might have scored a hit or two with that question. If they wanted to look deeper into that area, they would just be wasting a lot of their time. And Laura would be very happy for every hour they spent looking that way.

"No." She took a breath again, only to give the appearance of not wanting to talk about what she had been asked about. Then she went on, after only about three beats of delay. "Part of the public conditions of the parole, is that you have to work. And frankly Sam and Ellen do not have any worthwhile job skills at this time." She was not going to say that those two did not have any skills worth risking enough for them to be out in public. Sam had already been talked into believing that he was one of the Final Five. Ellen, well, that was a different story.

She had just finished the sentence with her statement, when another question was fired at her. This one came from the central area that held the press pool. "Why don't you just make them work in the tunnel farms! Like you have so many of our people doing, and have been doing for months! They can help do that, so that we can have proper food fit for real humans to eat!" The voice went high and almost broke as the words shot across the room.

Laura fought to keep the smile off her face, it would have ruined what she was trying to do today. " _Yep another one working with Tom."_ That was almost word for word what he had asked her in person a few days ago in a private meeting. She kept in control, and looked toward the general area for who had made that statement. She hoped that Tory was watching. If she was, she would make a note of the reporter and who he might be carrying water for.

"A major part of having the parole work, is that the person on parole must want to obey the rules that they were to live under in the first place. The Earthers are perfectly happy keeping and taking care of all of the Cylon prisoners that have been taken to date. To tell you truth, I'm perfectly happy with the way that is working out. If something happens, then it's their laws those Cylons will be breaking and not ours. I think we have seen that the Earthers do not take it easy on people who break their laws. Have we not?" A knowing little smile crossed her face at the few images that crossed her mind at the speed of light.

She was referring not only to the human form Cylons who had gone for a swim in shark infested waters tied together. She was also referring to a pair of Ha'la'tha members who had been running what the Earthers had called a 'Loan Sharking' scheme. The last part had not even been the main issue that had come up against the Earthers' legal system. If you were dumb enough to use something like that, you should have to pay for it. The problem was when they killed someone who owed them a lot of money. It had not gone well for the pair when they were found. They had been caught amazingly easily, and found guilty of the murder of a Colonial visiting the village at the time of his death. The scene of the crime gave the Earthers jurisdiction on the crime.

The two murders had been found back on the Colonial ships, but the crime had happened in the Settlement. They had made two appeals under the Colonial law, but both attempts had failed because the crime had not been done on Colonial ships. The Earther law was very clear, and they were guilty. So they had been executed, as stated under Earther law. Their bodies dumped out in deep water, just as had been done to the Cylons who had been convicted of mass murder. The humans at least had been shot in the head before they were dumped over the side of the ship into the cold, gray water of the open ocean. That had caused some issues for the press shows to chew on for some time, and Laura was sure it would again. She happened to like the way that the Earthers had handled the career criminals.

Laura let the last part sink in to the assembled press some more. She wanted to make sure that they indeed caught on to what she had said, but she could not wait too long. She did not want to lose the momentum she had built up. Even on the Fleet network, they did not like having too much dead air at any time. When she was ready, she started up again with her statement. She was going to change the subject on the press crew. She felt members of the press were best to deal with when they were punch drunk.

"I'm glad someone did bring up the topic of helping with the food production. I have been running the numbers. And I'm happy to report that within the fleet, we now have seventy-five percent of the total population of our people working on projects considered by me or the admiral as mission essential tasks. That has been the highest percentage of our people working to date that we have ever tracked. Personally, I was hoping that it would be higher, but we are getting there. Even if it is growing very slowly. I know that there are still people out there who can help, but for some reason have not come forward to work to support our people as a whole. The more we can get done now, the easier the next leg of our trip can be for all of us."

Laura looked directly into the camera. That was a very big no-no normally in show business. But she did it anyway, again. "If you have not helped or think that you cannot help, please contact the military representative on each ship in the fleet. Your help could mean the difference between life and death. It might or it might not be your life that is saved but it could be someone's. It also might not be today, but it could happen down the road, that what you do today, will turn out to be lifesaving later."

She looked at the press crew and decided that she was done with them, at least for. "I want to thank you all for your time. I will see you all on my next briefing."

Laura Roslin, the acting President of the Colonies of Kobol stepped back from the podium, then turned after two measured steps. She walked back through the red curtain. She did not even ask, if that was the last question or not. She had other items to take care of. Especially now that the news she had dropped on the back of the blood suckers was racing through the fleet of ships on the ground and in space. The press crew did not offer any questions to her back as the curtain fell. It had taken some time to get used to that trait of hers, but she did not have much time to waste. They had been given lot of information to work through, so they went about their jobs while the President went about hers.

Laure smiled and waved at the smirking Tory as she made her way back to her office, now that the curtain was back in place and breaking the line of sight into this working area. She found that her meal was waiting for her on a table, not far away from the working desk. It was still considered by her to almost be a real crime to waste food. She took the time to eat and enjoy the meal that had been laid out for her to refuel herself with. She needed that fuel, if she was to do the things she hated to do the most.

That was to contact, in the order that Tory had laid them out, the people who had left her messages before she stepped in front of the camera. Thinking about all those calls was almost enough to make her lose her appetite. Almost, that is.

While she ate the meal, she reviewed handwritten notes. She would not be able to get away with using the exact the same words to each of those power players. She knew that not long after she finished talking to them, a few would arrange to have a private meeting, and they would go over every word that had been said to each of them.

* * *

Laura Roslin was stretched out on the small cot in her office some hours later. She could have used one of the cabins to get some sleep, but she hated all of them. She had taken to sleeping in this room or on the flagship with her boyfriend. Those rooms brought back too many bad memories for her to be able to get any sleep. One of the visiting Earthers had a saying that had been told to one of her staff. It was that the sleeping cabins on this ship had some bad 'karma' in them. It had taken a while for her staff to find out what they meant by the term that was used. After some time to think about it, she decided it was a good fit for the feeling she got from those rooms. Every time she walked past one of them that happened to have the hatch open.

She did stay overnight on the little liner, but not as much as before Baltar took over the job of President. Although a lot of that was her relationship with the commander of the old battlestar, as much as the creeping feeling the ship now gave her most nights. The cot she slept in was not the old Colonial one she had used before, or even the one she used in her living space cum school tent in the refugee camp. This new one was a high tech contraption that had an air filled mattress. What she really liked about the new cot, beside it being a lot more comfortable, was the auto fold function it was built with. All she had to do to pack the bed away was to push one button.

Just push it, then wait for it to stop moving. By the time the cot stopped moving, it had transformed from a bed that would hold two people if they liked to sleep close together, into a briefcase sized object. One that she could, and did, hide under one of the chairs that had been added to her office. To set it back up, all she had to do was press one button and the job was done automatically. Tonight she was tired. Soon her brain would shut down, and her eyes would close for some much needed rest. The bad karma in the other room lost its grip on a deep sleeping woman.

Laura woke up when she heard someone calling her name softly. When she came to, she was not sure why she had come awake. Then she heard the voice again, softly calling her name. It was Tory calling her by name and title in a low voice. She had left word to be woken up when the battlestars had returned to them. That must be what had happened, because if it was a Cylon attack, she would be waking up to the alarms of an emergency jump sounding throughout the ship. And accompanied by running feet along the metal deck.

Not soon after her little press conference, and after handling all of the political messages. She had contacted each ship's captain personally. Most of those commanders did not want to waste her time, and they praised her on the transmitted meeting. She thanked them and additionally advised the orbiting ships to bring their jump engines to emergency standby mode, but quietly. It would burn more fuel and put some extra wear on the engines, but it went a long way towards easing some of the stress that some of the captains were feeling. The jump coordinates were to the emergency site they had planned for in advance. Intended for use only when the Cylon scout was expected to return to visit them again, and leading the first wave of returning Cylons. Most of the last part was not known to anyone that was outside of a very tight-knit group.

When she moved just a little, Tory could tell that her boss was awake again. "Madam President. They've returned, both of them. The Admiral asked for you to come over after first meal. He is waiting on the active line for your reply." Tory could not help but feel the smile come to her face. One small part of her mind was wondering why Cylons could not have more control of things like this. If they were machines they should be able to control something as simple as keeping a smile from coming to their faces on demand.

Laura sat up with some speed, and thanked the Gods that the lights were off. "Thank you Tory. What does my morning schedule look like?" She so wanted to get cleaned up and head right over to see Bill. But she knew that this was something that she just could not do, at least not right away.

Tory did not even have to check any notes to answer that question. "You have a meeting first thing with Baltar's lawyer in your office. He wants talk to you about having all of the charges against Baltar thrown out again. I don't think you can dodge him again. When he made this appointment, he was making some noises about going to the press about you dragging your feet on his client's legal and required day in court." Tory could not keep the tone of her voice from turning sour. She had not liked Baltar's lawyer from the second she met him. She had been planetside when it happened, before she had been found out as a Cylon in hiding.

Roslin let out a loud sigh as duty reached out its ugly hand again to affect her personal life. She had forgotten about that meeting, but Tory was right. She could not put that one off any longer. They had laws that they had to follow even if it was in times of emergency. She had gotten away with it once. She did not think that she would be able to get away with it again. A society had to follow its own laws, or it was not a society anymore. It was just one in name only. Laura did not have a real choice in what she could do.

"Please let Bill know I will see him after I have finished that appointment. Would you please clear the rest of the day for me? And also please pass along that it is good that he is back safe."

Tory smiled a knowing smile, but no one could see it in the dark of the room. It felt good to be back working with Roslin again. "Yes, Ma'am and please try to get some more sleep. You looked a little tired on the image of the briefing you gave. Your wake up alarm is not set to go off for two more hours."

Roslin did not give a reply. She knew that she was being managed, but she did not care just this once. Tory Foster had already closed the door that separated the two offices, when Laura started to lie her had back down onto the air mattress. She was asleep again before her head hit the air-filled pillow. All was right with her world for now. And what more could one really hope for? At least in a world like the one they were living in now.


	7. Chapter 7 Chapter 7: No you cannot shot

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 7: No You Cannot Shoot the Lawyers!**

High Orbit, New Caprica

885 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 3 years 9 months AT

A few hours after both Battlestars returned to the system, Laura was sitting at her desk in the same room that she had been sleeping in. She was working on the seemingly incredible amount of paperwork needed to lead less than fifty thousand people. The hatch that separated her office from the rest of the ship opened, and in walked an odd looking thin man. With a quick look at her day calendar, she knew who it was. She had to fight very hard not to let anything show on her face. The other person would notice it and more than likely find a way to use that not only against her but against Bill also.

This person was Baltar's lawyer, and this was not the first time she was seeing this man at close range. He was not an unknown to her, not with so few individuals of the human race left. He was wearing the same suit she had last seen him in. Laura felt something hollow in her stomach when the hatch closed behind the lawyer. The closing of the hatch sounded a lot like the gong on the river Styx should have sounded to her ears.

That he was wearing the same clothes all the time was not an uncommon situation. Not with the overall shortage of clothes in the fleet. Even before the last year on New Caprica, most people only had one or two changes of clothes in the limited luggage they had with them that day the Cylons attacked. Some people had a dozen outfits with them, and the crews on some of those vessels had even more than that. But those were the odd men out compared to the normal people lucky enough to be on a spaceship when the Cylons returned.

Laura took her time and watched the man as he limped to the chair in front of her desk. She thought the limp was some kind of gimmick but he did have a walking cane. One that no one could remember him not having near him at all times and looked well used on both ends to Laura. He also was wearing a set of dark sunglasses that no one in their right mind should need on board a starship. But he always wore them, right along with the walking cane in his hand. The other odd thing that he was known for was being carried in his off hand.

That was the hand that was not holding the cane. Instead it was holding a medium sized, off white animal travel carrier. This one had a cat in it, and it was one of the few pets to make it out of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol's space with the rag tag fleet. The lawyer sat down in one of the chairs that faced Roslin from across her desk, and was staring right back at Laura. All without a word of permission being given, or requested by either party. It was very rude of him, and he did not care if he had been asked or not. He was playing a power game, and he had won this round... Sort of.

 _"He must be a hell of a card player, or crazier than Starbuck. I wonder what would happen if I got him and Starbuck to sit at the same card table for an evening. What might happen? Ohhh I bet that it would be worth recording for later viewing."_ While Roslin entertained idle thoughts of recording such a confrontation, she met the lawyer's eyes with her own. When she felt the time was right, she opened the meeting.

"Okay, Mr. Lampkin. What is wrong now?"

Romo Lampkin was watching the sitting President of the Colonies behind her desk. He liked using his dark sunglasses to hide that he was sizing someone up like a pig that was about to go to market. This person, who was being called the President, might have only been a school teacher before the new war started, but she was not that now. Or at least, she was not that _right_ now. He had seen her while she was teaching before the Cylons had found them again, and he had seen her after.

At first, he had not known what was driving his curiosity. Then, just before he walked into that converted tent, he knew why he was there. He had bet that this woman had changed from her past life. She was by then a power player, and he had bet that sooner or later, she would seek a higher position not long afterward. After the Cylons had taken over the little refugee camp, he had wanted to see what she was up to. It did not take him long to know that she was not just teaching the little ones any more. She was one of the power players behind the scenes of the resistance that was forming against the Cylons. At that moment, he knew that he would have a run in with her again. That is, if they lived through the Cylon occupation.

Romo had planned to go for the straight stare down approach. But now, he knew that he would lose the point he had scored by taking a seat without it being offered first. He would have to change plans. Study the President a bit more before he could push further.

"I want you to dismiss all of the charges filed against my client. We both know that they are just trumped up, politically driven junk." He gave a smile that was as fake as his need to wear the sunglasses on the ship.

Laura looked down her glass at the man in dark glasses, just like she did to teenagers who wanted a different grade on a test that they did not deserve. With a level tone that was almost flat, she gave him a simple answer to his question. "That is not going to happen and you know it. Baltar committed the crimes we have charged him with, and he will have to answer for them. The few people we have left deserve to have justice for what they were put through."

Romo did not let up with his attack. He quickly decided to act like he was in court and she was the sitting judge without a jury to worry about just yet. "Crimes? Can you prove that he did any of these crimes? Or are you just saying that he 'did' these crimes as your opinion? Do you think you have enough evidence that he did a crime? Or any crimes for that matter, that I can't convince people were actually done by the Cylons and now just pinning on him? I don't think so, because if you did, then you would have already had the trial and shoved him out an airlock. Just like you did to those Cylons a while back. The right to a speedy trial is a keystone of our legal system." Romo had to fight down the urge not to stand and pace around the room as he spoke his well-practiced lines. He had used this speech, or a version of it, a hundred times. And he had always been pacing around a courtroom when he gave it.

Laura was tempted to pull out the file that had the recordings and other evidence gathered for the prosecution. Most of them were about how Baltar had been partly responsible for the Cylons putting the back door into the software program he had created for the government. The same back door that the Cylons later used to kill a few billion of their people in a single day.

It was only a fleeting thought. She wanted to play that card for a larger audience, and not for one man with a power complex. She was just glad that she did not have to turn it over to him like the Earther laws required.

She gave the man a little smile instead of giving over any useful data. "Mr. Lampkin the reason we have not had the trial yet, is simply that we have had more important things we have to do first. You know and I know, that a trial can delayed for any number of reasons. You know, like say a massive storm or other disasters in that scale of things. So I can legally delay the trial for as long as this storm is causing havoc on our people." The storm that she was referring to was not one of the natural variety, but rather the Cylon one.

Romo now smiled back at the woman behind the desk. _"I think it's time to do some fishing, and see if my money was well spent or not."_ He kept the parts of his face that she could see very still. "Miss. Roslin. I know that the reason that you had 'things to do first' as you called it, is because you know when the Cylons are coming back, and how strong they will be when they return to this star system." Romo was thankful for the dark glasses as he dangled the bait out in the open. He could feel his heart racing, and even a bit of sweat to start to build up on his upper lip.

Laura kept the smile on her face, and did not let it move a fraction of an inch as she worked through the words the lawyer had just dropped in her lap. "That kind of information is a state secret, as I think you well know. You should also know that I cannot confirm or deny anything like that, Mr. Lampkin. So I will ask one more time what do you want? I do not like playing games, and that is what you have been doing since you walked into my office. I have more important things to do than deal with any Baltar related issues today."

 _"Frak, she does know something, and she is not going to talk about it,"_ Romo realized, but decided not to it pursue at this at this time. The job came first. Romo did not know that one corner of his mouth had dropped a little as he heard what the President said to him. That was the only clue he gave that he had been surprised by what she had said and not said at the same time.

"I want a court date set. And if you cancel it, I want my client released out of confinement by the end of that day. I want this in writing, before I leave your office. If I have to, I will camp out here." He looked around the room. "The floor looks pretty comfortable to me."

He had a few more demands he was thinking about throwing on the table, but at the last second he stopped talking. He remembered that she was not a judge or even another lawyer. This was a leader of people in a war. One that had cost a lot already. There was not much room to push past a certain point, and he was pretty sure he had reached that point already.

Laura looked at the man and did not say a word. She wanted him to sweat a little. The look she was giving him had caused more than one person to melt. And not in a good way, either. Then she leaned over, and pulled out a larger calendar. She stared flipping through a few pages, and stopped. She then flipped through a few more pages, and stopped a second time. She did this four more times, and as she had hoped it was wearing on the lawyer's nerves.

"How about in eight months' time? Call it two hundred and forty days from today. How does that work for you and your lying frakker of a client? I want the ability to move that date in case of emergency. You know, something like a Cylon attack or something."

She had her finger on a date, but she was looking over the top of her glasses. She had already picked a date close to this mentally some time ago, but she had been smart enough to not write it down. She was waiting to see how things happening around the fleet worked out before she said the first word about it. It she could delay it longer, there was a good bet that she would have pushed for a later date for the trial. However, that would have been farther down the road.

Romo pulled out his own pocket calendar, and made an answering show of flipping through the small pages himself. It was hopelessly outdated, but he was not going to let her know that bit of information. Not at a point like this in the meeting. When he reached a page with some space to write on. He made a note about today's date, and what would be 240 days from then.

It was with as much boredom as he could put into his voice that he replied. "Oh, I think I can work with that. But I still want it in writing. And I want a list of what you can consider an emergency. If something is not on that list, I will push for my client to be released." He was making some more notes on an empty spot of his outdated calendar. It was not that he needed to do that, but it was a game. And he was not going to lose that point in his mind that he had scored against Laura Roslin.

Roslin smiled sweetly at him, and now Romo knew it had been a trap of some kind that he had walked into. "Tory has the paperwork on her desk. All you have to do is sign off your agreement on it. So unless you have more on your mind, I have another appointment that requires my attention." She was not looking over her glasses at him anymore. She did not want to use up all the power it had on a given person. Besides, she had gotten what she needed out of it already. After all he had not readdressed the question about the Cylons returning yet.

 _"Frak she's good at this,"_ thought the lawyer as he resolved to spend some more time figuring out what made the President tick. Everyone had to have a soft point somewhere that can be used against them. He needed to make sure he had his A-game on next time they cross paths. And they will cross paths again, of that he had no doubt. Romo put the small calendar away in the pocket he had pulled it out of. He knew that his moving hands should distract from anything that might show on his face as he was thinking about the future.

"No, and thank you Madam President for your time today. I will review the paperwork to make sure it's in the best interest of my client. Will Ms. Foster be able to handle any changes that might need to be addressed before I agree to it?"

To Romo's surprise, he meant what he said. That was rare in his line of work. He rose from the chair and left the woman to her work. As promised by Laura, the paperwork was waiting for him when he exited her office. And even more surprising, it had exactly what she had told him would be in it and not a word more. He tried to get some stuff added out of sheer spite, but in the end, he could not.

He backed down, but only after trying to anger the human form Cylon. Tory did not rise to the bait. Instead she threatened to shred the paperwork and have him start all over again with Roslin. Romo graciously declined the offer, and signed on the line that said he agreed with what was written in the document.

* * *

Tory was smiling as the strange man came out of the Roslin's office. She could tell that the lawyer had met his match in the battle of wits today. He should have known better than to try crossing swords with Laura. She herself was still coming to grips about being a Cylon, instead of being just a human. She had seen the medical tests and reports, and she still did not believe deep down.

It seemed like Tyrol had been able to grasp that something was different about him from the start. For her on the other hand, it was harder for her for a while. That all changed after the Earthers put her in that chair and dug around in her head for a few minutes. They had showed her the difference between what she remembered, and what had really happened to her. It had been eye opening and more than a little frightening.

When they removed the memory blocks the Ones had put in her head before sending her to live in the Colonies in exile, she had almost lost her sanity right then and there in that chair. She somehow found that she did want to live, and to live at any cost. But for three days, she did not know what she would do. No one could possibly trust her at that time. Frak, she did not even trust herself, now.

When she was told that Laura Roslin not only needed her help, but wanted it, that had been another surprise, but at least it was on the positive side of the ledger. The last surprise to Tory was that she wanted to have her old job back. After the guard left her cell, a wave of memories washed over her. Not all of them were good but most were. She had enjoyed working with Roslin, and decided that she did want to do something like that again.

For only the second time, Tory was glad she had volunteered to let the Earthers play around in her head, and introduce her to that frakking chair. So far all but one of the Final Five had undergone the treatment to have the blocks removed. Sometimes she would sit up late wondering how long it was going to take for all of the Cylons POW's to do the same thing. She knew that it had been offered to them, but as far as she knew, only members of the Final Five had gone through with it.

Romo took the offered pages from the human form Cylon. He was still working out his own internal feelings about some of the Cylons working with the humans. The dark skinned female Cylon did not offer any small talk after the threat of shredding the document. She only answered direct questions when asked, with the shortest number of words possible. It seemed to him that she might almost be daydreaming or something while she was setting at her working desk.

Now that was a crazy thought, Cylons that daydream while on the clock. He was a lawyer, and the first week of that school had been all about training to never sign something without reading it completely first. It was a lot more than reading the words, you had to completely understand them. It was in later classes that they tried to teach you to start working out ways to counter whatever was on the pages you were handed. He had so enjoyed law school. It had been a perfect fit for the way his mind worked.

He would not leave this room until he had a complete understanding of the paperwork. He even planned on staying for a bit after he was done. He had talked himself into believing that he had been run out of Roslin's offices. To get a little payback, at least on her assistant, for the perceived rushing, he intended to stay as long as he wanted after he was done reading the paperwork. He decided to chat up the female looking Cylon who was working for the older woman in the other nearby room. After all, what did he have to lose in the effort? It was not like he had anything else to do today. Besides, he wanted to get even for the threat she had made about shredding the sheets of paper that he needed from her.

Tory was working at her normal pace, but kept an eye on the strange man without letting him notice it. Something about him made her uncomfortable inside, and not in a good way. If she had been in her old office back on Caprica, she would have called building security and had him thrown out on his... ear. She was reading a screen with half closed eyes, only moving two fingers to command the computer to change screens. This let her look like she was not paying any attention to anything that was going on around her. But that was very far from the truth.

Then he started talking to her again once she had completed the tasks dealing with him. She was not thrilled at this turn of events. Tory looked up from her computer, and tried to give him a certain look to make him go away. She figured he either had spent too much time with Baltar, or was cut from the same cloth as he when it came to making small talk. Tory thought it was too bad she could not shoot the lawyer.

After a fresh exchange of names, Tory just tuned the lawyer out, and started on another project that had to be done. Really she just wanted him to leave the office. She was very relieved, therefore, when he exited and closed the hatch behind him. Tory barely looked up when he finally left. She merely marked the time next to his name in the digital appointment books, and moved on to the next task on the long list of things that needed her attention today. As she started working again, she felt a chill run down her spine. Something was off, but she had no idea what it might be. She could just feel that something was off. This would be nagging at her for the rest of the day.

While Lampkin had left his meeting at the time he wanted, he had not made it to the launch bay in time to catch his shuttle back to the ship he was living on. And it was not like he could just walk over to another ship. He would have to wait for almost two hours before he could catch another ride off of this converted Liner. The liner that was called Colonial One was slated to spend one week underwater, and one week in space.

Laura wanted to show the crews of those ships that could not land that they had not been forgotten by their leadership. As she was floating in space above the planet, something was happening a short distance away from that blue and white painted ship. At least it was a short distance in the scale used when talking about objects moving in and around a stellar system.

* * *

On the other side of the fleet of ships, the damaged Battlestar Galactica's Chief Engineer was working in one of the few remaining empty sections on the great ship's only remaining hangar pod. The room had once been used to carry the anti-Raider missiles, typically mounted under the wings of the Vipers and in bays on the sides of the Raptors. With the extreme shortage of those types of weapons in the fleet, and the low likelihood that they would have a sudden large resupply of those weapons, the room had been repurposed.

Now fitted with blowout panels, it was serving as a test area for different ideas in the fertile ground the Earthers had made of the Colonials' minds. Tyrol was not alone as he worked on one of two sections of oddly shaped and colored metal. Both sections were in the center of the little room, each fixed to the top of a heavy duty metal worktable. Admiral Adama was watching as the Chief and an Earther ran two visibly different hand held devices over the odd metal pieces mounted in the work area. The two started talking again as the sensors moved about, but they were too far away and talking too softly for the older Adama to understand what was being said. All he could do was wait with his hands clasped behind his back, and try not to shoot them too many dirty looks while they finished up their tasks.

Chief Tyrol picked up a backpack like device that had been resting at his feet. It looked like twin silverfish colored cylinders feeding a thick gold colored hose. The hose went from the cylinders worn behind the wearer to a hand held device that looked not unlike some sort of weapon. It looked a lot like one of the heavy firefighting devices used by damage control teams to fight fires onboard ships. But at the same time it looked different and more lethal looking somehow.

The reason for the subtle differences was that the device was not human made, but put together by Cylons to be used by other Cylons. The Earther in the testing room had said it looked like something called an old style flamethrower. Bill had heard of such things. They had been common when the Colonies warred on each other, though they had fallen out of fashion during the Cylon War. The Earther said that they mostly used it to clear land of invasive plants. The cleared land could then be used for farming. Despite the rather mundane explanation, the Earther was beginning to look so uncomfortable that Bill decided not to press for more details.

Athena and another Number Eight moved from a different wall mounted table, and started to work with a few nobs on the device that the Chief now had on his back. When one of the women stepped back away from the pair, Athena slapped the palm of her hand on the top of the Chief's enclosed helmet three resounding times. Athena then took a few quick steps away from the other human form. At no time did she enter the field of view of the man with the twin tanks on his back.

Bill thought that must have been an agreed upon signal that everything was ready. Because a few seconds later the Chief pointed the weapon like hand held device at the wall. A dark colored liquid came rushing out of the odd looking device. It soon engulfed one of the pieces of metal about four and a half meters in front of where he had been standing. The odd sound that had accompanied the burst of liquid also reminded Bill of the sound that the heavy firefighting gear made when used in a normal atmosphere of pressure. It was an oddly pitched whooshing sound.

Then Bill had a flash of an idea. What if that odd blackish looking spray had been a gout of red and orange flame? Now he understood what the English word flamethrower meant. Now he understood why the Earther did not want to talk too much about what one was used for back where they had come from. The vivid, full color picture of a burst of flame in his head made his blood run ice cold. He had to give himself a little shake to get his mind back on track to evaluate this test that the Chief had wanted him to see. Now he was wondering what made people come up with a hellish weapon like that and then use them on other people of all things.

Bill had another shiver as he fought to keep those thoughts out of his fore mind. And he had to fight to put them back into a very small box buried in the back of his mind. He forced himself to focus on the test. This let him notice that the black liquid had settled very quickly. It was also a lot thinner than he thought it had been when it first left the nozzle of the device. Chief walked to an empty side table, and took the device off of his back, setting the device down with a solid bang on the metal topped worktable. It would seem like the test had not used that much of whatever was in those tanks.

The device must have been heavier than it first looked, because the Chief seemed very relieved to have the two metal cylinders off his shoulders and back. The Earther in the group was waving his hand held device in the air. He made a few passes with the device both in the vicinity of the test site, and in the clean air away from the test site. It was only a few seconds before he waved the bystanders to come closer and removed a small air filtering device that was in his mouth.

He would only have done that for one thing and that was if the area was safe for non-protected individuals to approach. No one wanted to be the first to enter what might be a danger area filled with an unknown substance of Cylon manufacture.

The older Adama saw the slow pace of the damage control teams, and walked a little faster than them. Bill had to keep a slight smile off of his face as the larger Chief bulled past everyone and beat them all back to the twin samples at the end of the room. Bill was betting that even though the Chief was a Cylon, he did not notice that he had almost run other people over in his enthusiasm to get back to the test samples.

Maybe this was a mistake that the Cylon makers had made. Making the human form Cylons a little too human in the end. Bill had to fight a slight chuckle from forming on his lips at this thought.

Adama walked up behind the Deck Chief and now head engineer of the whole ship as he ran his own little device over the metal samples. After checking his hand held device two or three times in different areas of the piece of metal the Chief ran his bare hand over its surface. He covered a large area of the display in a few broad swipes of his arm. He was making odd, low keyed sounds. Sounds that Adama would later swear in his memoirs was not far off from how someone would speak to a kid or a lover with those low tones. When he seemed to be done Tyrol straightened his back, and turned to face his commander with a small smile on his face.

"Sir, it seems be working." He started to pat the tested metal scrap out on display for this test. His smile seemed to be a little larger as he patted the metal sample. The only thing that was holding him back was the knowledge that this was only the first test that would need to be run on those fragments. It still might work out that he was wrong in the end.

Adama nodded and stepped around the shorter man who was blocking direct access to the test stands. He looked at both samples as closely as he could without getting dirty or needing any scanning devices. The one that had not been engulfed by the black liquid still looked the same to his eyes with their decades of experience. The other one was changed, but apart from the now overlying layer of dark liquid, it was a very subtle change to his eyes. The scrap the Chief had been fondling had an odd black tint, an almost oily looking sheen that seemed to be changing slowly to a metallic silver-black tint right before his eyes. Other than that, they did not seem to have changed much. Adama did not know if this slight change that he could see was good or bad yet. But he was keeping an eye on the Chief to see if he would give a hint at what way he was leaning in his own assessment of the test results.

As the two men were watching the two samples, the other two knuckledraggers went about waving of what both men knew were Colonial damage control devices around both of the fragments in slow sweeping arcs. Tyrol soon joined the other group composed of the most experienced Damage Control personnel in what was left in the fleet. The Chief had a thin smile on his face when he came back to the head of the Colonial fleet who also just happened to be the same person holding sway over life or death for him if he screwed up.

Tyrol turned his device so that the Admiral could read the display and the information it was trying to convey to its users. "Sir, this damage control stuff the Cylons made seems to be working. It's getting into even the smallest of the micro cracks that the portable damage control system can see. I will have to see how small of a crack it can work on, but from what I can tell, and it matches what we were told by the other Cylons, it seems to be growing some kind of crystal like formation deep into the stress cracks. Then it builds a second layer over that first layer of crystal to make a kind of a cross lock into the first set of fresh crystals. If it was a cut on your arm, I'd say that it's forming something like a scab over the breaks on the skin. The normal firefighting breathers, or battle damage suits, were not harmed. They should be okay to be reused at least a few times before they have to be inspected by a support crew. I think this will work. But we still need to do a destruction test on the sample to be sure how well it is working. For all we know, it might look pretty, but that's about it."

Tyrol stopped talking, and waited for his commander's decision. He had an idea of what would happen, but he would not start that until he had his orders. If this little demonstration had happened before they had found this planet, the Chief would have already started the next phase of testing, and then get permission from the Commander later. Maybe he would get that level of trust back, but it would not be soon, or easy for that matter.

Adama could not help himself, and soon he too was running his bare hand over both of the samples as the Chief talked. He could feel that the one they were running the test on had a slightly smother feel to it. But that was about it. Well, aside from the color change on the one that the Cylon substance was tested on.

"So, Chief... If it does work out, how do we use it to fix my ship? And also, how much would we need to do the job? That is, if it passes all of the remaining tests. I know you have lined up a few more for this little hunk of metal?" Bill was hoping that he was speaking the truth, and not wishing upon a star.

The Chief looked at his feet, then at the test sample, and then back to the Admiral in front of him. Tyrol was still side on to the other human form Cylons who had been helping with the test. He had waited to say more, but stopped when he saw the two Number Sixes start walking over to them. The one in the lead did not have a smile on her face, and that could be a bad thing. She had heard what the Admiral had said, and had not liked it at all. She was the one that had told Tyrol about the substance. She did not like that she had been doubted in the first place, and she was not about to let it go.

Both were among the first of a new crop of human forms who were trying the parole system out. They were still in the early stages of working their way through the ins and outs of what parole really meant. One had been captured at one of the Cylon defensive points through a method that was... different from that of any of the other human forms. She had been found pinned under debris, and knocked unconscious by a nearby missile blast. A mixed crew of Earthers and Colonials had stumbled onto her while inspecting the site, just as she was just coming around back to the real world from her unexpected trip into Lala land. She had been unarmed, and had not been happy about the situation she had found herself in.

From the reports that came in later about her, she had a mouth that could made a space miner blush. And she had not been shy about using it. Even then the Earthers had not felt right shooting a person who was both unarmed, and pinned under a few hundred kilos of wreckage. To rectify this issue, one of the Earthers had put three knock out darts into her chest in quick succession. It was just to make sure that they worked on her kind. They had been told, but seeing was believing, even if it was a little overkill.

When the drugs had worn off, she was placed in the general population with the other captured Cylons. She was told by those other Cylons what had happened to all of the other Cylons that had taken up arms against the Colonials and their new allies. This Number Six had not been one of the human forms inclined to take up personal arms. She had always been in one of the support roles that even the Cylons needed to maintain to a functioning fleet. That however did not mean that she was a meek person. Far from it, in fact. Even when that might have been the best course of action to take.

As soon as this Six was close enough, she started letting her opinion be known to the Colonial commander with some heat in her tone. "Of course it worked! Do you think we were trying to sabotage your old frakking ship or something? We've been using it on our own ships for years now, and we tested the frak out of it before we even started deploying it to the rest of the Cylon fleet. Why wouldn't it frakking work on this museum piece of a warship?" The Six' balled up her hands were on her hips by the time she finished addressing the Colonial.

Her eye would have been shooting fire if she had that ability. The Colonials were only lucky that she was using her sharp tongue to lash out. It was just too bad that she was as good at her job as she thought she was. She was able to identify issues on equipment, and fix them even faster, faster than any other three deck crews, human or Cylon. The second Six had not said anything yet, but her head was nodding up and down at every word that was said by her twin.

Tyrol rolled his eyes, and tried not to look at the Old Man directly. All while the other human form put both feet in her mouth all the way to the hip joints. Not for the first time, he wondered if Cylon blood stains were easier or harder to wash out of clothing. He was betting that the Admiral was about to rip her a new one any second.

Adama was about to shoot the Cylon, and not in a metaphorical way. His hand had moved to his hip where until recently he had been carrying his sidearm every day since the day after he had been shot. He had just rescinded the order for all on duty personnel to carry loaded side arms. Now it was only a suggestion that they have them ready in case of an alert. Trying to set an example, he had gone without. Now he was wishing that he had not decided to do that today. He took two deep breaths to get his blood pressure under control before asking the question again. He did not like having to ask the same question twice even to members of his own crew, much less a hitchhiker. That did not even count what this Cylon had said about his beloved girl, and to his face no less.

"So, like I said before. After it has passed the tests, how do we fix my ship that you're hitching a ride on?" Bill's index finger was was by now tapping a pattern against his right hip, and he did not even notice what he was doing.

Both Model Sixes turned red as the tone struck home. The second Six was going by the name of Donna, but she also had little experience in dealing with humans. Much less having to deal with one of the famed Adamas. She had been found in one of the few emergency life pods that had been successfully launched from one of the Basestars before it died under the hammering of Colonial weapons. The only reason it had been brought in to one of the Colonials' ships by one of the few SAR Raptors was that it was only a few hundred meters from a damaged Viper. One with a still living pilot manning the little craft's by then useless controls.

Her main job in the Cylon Fleet had been as one of the few human form Cylons working in the engine room of a Basestar. That is, before it had been blasted out of space by Colonial weapons fire. She had seen the rising level of damage being done to her ship and as luck would have it, she was only about five or six paces from an escape pod when she realized it was done for. She had just closed the hatch when all hell broke loose. After a quick second, she was back from the flashback of her drifting in space aboard the life pod wondering about the many different ways that she was mostly likely going to die. She stepped into save her fellow Six any more embarrassment. Maybe. Or maybe she was stepping in to save her own hide.

"I don't know, Sir." She felt that a little bit of sweat start wet her under arms. "This is as new to us as it is to your people, Sir."

The 'Sir', had been thrown in at the last second, but not because she was being disrespectful to the Colonial Commander. It was simply not a form of address Cylons normally used even on their warships. "I don't know how much of it we can find on what's left of the Basestars in system. It is based on an organic compound that we found on our side of the border. We used it as the base compound for the repair matrix. I know that I can make more of the key catalyst with the lab equipment in the fleet. But I don't know if we can grow the basic bio-compound that makes the matrix work the way it is supposed to." She was being completely honest with the Admiral.

Adama nodded his head. He had been afraid of that when he read about Tyrol's proposed course of action to repair the damage to the old warship. He looked away from the pretty Cylons, and back at the not so pretty Cylon that was once more his Chief Engineer. He made a face, and gave an order he knew he should not have had to. He also knew that he needed to do it, at least until both Tyrol and he were as comfortable with each other as they used to be.

"Okay. Fix the other sample just like we normally would. And test them both as hard as you can. I want the draft report on my desk by the evening meal, Chief."

He now looked once more at the female cylons, and pointed a bony finger at them. His craggy face was not angry, or friendly. "I want you to report to the main briefing room when you are no longer needed here. We have a complete set of electronic deck plans for the class of Basestars that were in this system."

Bill had ordered that file loaded not long after reviewing Tyrol's plan. He had been looking at it on and off for some time now, mentally marking out the places where he would put damage control equipment. This had all been on the off chance that this test would prove fruitful. Bill paused to make sure that he had the Cylons' attention.

"We will need you both. We need you to mark everywhere that this stuff might be stored on what is left of those Cylon ships, along with anything else that might prove useful." He turned away and started walking back to his office. He was hoping to find out that Laura was on her way over when he made it back to CIC. Before he could get far though, a voice reached out to his back. He almost lost his cool, stopping and turning slightly when the female Cylon started talking.

"Sir, the longer the stuff sets, the better it works. It really needs twenty hours to even come close to being fully set."

The Six that had been recovered planetside was almost frantic with her statement. She did not want the tests to fail because she felt her kind would be blamed for that failure. She was not sure the humans would keep their word, and not put an end to her life permanently. She really did not want to die. She had not even liked the thought of dying when her people had access to resurrection. Now they did not even have that, so death was total now. She had no problem telling her peers that this frightens the frak out of her.

Adama was still more or less facing away from the two Cylons. "I know, but time is something we don't have much of. Testing early will give us a baseline of information, and we can work out a timeline with that confirmed data point. I am planning on some salvage missions on the Basestars, starting first thing tomorrow. I want to add be able to add that stuff to their list. And that's only if it's worth the time and dangers to those crews to go looking for it in the first place." Bill now exited the room to the stunned eyes of those left behind.

This was the first time that anyone in this group had heard anything about a return to the wrecked Cylon ships. By order of the Admiral and the Acting President of the Colonies, the battle damaged wrecks had been very carefully not messed with. What was left of the Galactica's starboard hangar pod had been searched. Taking a page from the Earthers the Admiral had even sent a second group over to walk down every hall and look in every room.

The first mission had only looked for any one who might still have been alive shortly after the battle. They had been able to save only three people out of all of those souls that had been in that part of the ship during the battle. It was a very glum recovery crew who had reported back to the damaged Flagship. Still, three was a lot better than zero.

The second search mission was launched a month or so after the Cylons were confirmed to have been all destroyed in this local area. They had gone after items that were worthwhile and yet small enough to be retrieved for reuse by the rest of the fleet. Like three MK II Vipers that had been moved over to that hangar for extensive repairs. They had been moved there to free up more room in the more active port pod for the upcoming battle. They were even able to recover six Viper engines and a Raptor that had a blown out jump engine but was otherwise a fully functional scout craft on that last mission.

Everything else, like personnel effects, had been left as they were the day of the attack. This again was on the Admiral's written and posted orders. Bill had wanted to pull every weapon, round, tool, and anything else that was only bolted down. But the other part of his brain knew that a lot of that kind of stuff needed to be left behind. He needed to convince the Cylons that the surviving humans had left this system as fast as they could. He did not want the Cylons to know when the surviving humans had left this system. Anything that would throw off their tracking calculation could be helpful to the humans in the end.

The two different types of Cylons were silent, as the Admiral continued on his way out of the room that the testing had been done in. They did not have anything more to say. They were all thinking on their own that when the Admiral changed his mind about something, it usually meant something big was up or about to happen. When the two Number Sixes turned to look at the other Cylon, Tyrol, he had similar look of shock plastered on his face. He had not known about this third mission to the wrecked Cylon Basestars either. For once the Chief's network had failed him. He viewed this as another sign that he had a lot of making up to do.

* * *

As the older Adama made his way back to CIC, he was thinking about his last words to the two Cylons. He had not noticed the poleaxed look that the Chief had at his statement. Bill could understand that look. He too had been blindsided by the request from one of the Earthers a few days ago. That request ended up kickstarting the entire process of planning for a relook at the Cylon ships. Every time he thought about that meeting, he would both shake his head and curse himself.

His name was John Keller, and he had an idea that supposedly came up after a few drinks at the dirtside bar. He had gone through channels to reach him, but he had kept what his actual idea was very close to his breast. That is, until he could get some face to face time, as he called it, with someone high enough in the food chain. Adama was still kicking himself for not thinking about it first. His son had banged his head on the hatch door when Bill told him about the Earther's idea in some detail. It just was one of those ideas that was so simple, it had been overlooked. And in this case, it had repeatedly been overlooked. It was one of those ideas that only someone like Starbuck could have come up with in the first place. Bill was still shaking his head every time the thought of that idea crossed his mind. It had connected so many dots that it was not funny.

After Bill returned through the heavy metal armored hatch that separated the flagship's CIC from the rest of the ship. Bill had to take some time physically checking each station in the CIC. He was looking for any and all updates. As was expected there were no issues in the CIC that needed his direct attention. He was not supposed to check back in for another few hours after the Chief's little test, but they were able to update the commander without any delays when he showed up out of the blue.

With that task complete, he returned to his favorite work area near the main plotting table. On it was the complete briefing for the next day's mission to the floating wrecks nearby. Bill could not help himself, so he opened the folder with properly cut corners. He pulled out his reading glasses from their carrier and started to re-read this file's pages to himself. He soon had his pen out to mark the changes he wanted, now that he was over the shock of missing the idea. He would hand off a copy of the folder to the mission commander first thing in the morning. Sometimes you would be amazed at what you noticed was missing after you set a report down and then came back to it a few hours later. He gave a soft chuckle as he reviewed the file one last time. This brought several sets of eyes to look at him for a fast second, before going back to whatever task they were supposed to be doing.

The plan was for a mixed group of Earthers and Colonials numbering twenty people in total for this mission. That number also included four human form Cylons who had already volunteered. Those four would be going with them to act as guides in the dark zero gravity of the floating wrecks. They would be leaving after the morning meal to start searching the Cylon wrecks. They had planned to look for missiles, warhead bunkers, and a short list of other things that were considered useful. Useful enough to be worth the risk of going through the wrecks searching for them.

Adama made a note for them to look for reservoirs of that damage control substance the Chief was looking at using to help fix his ship. John Keller had brought up the core idea, along with someone named Joseph Vo, for the real jewels that might be hiding in those hulks. It would seem that the two had been talking about the Raptors that were under repair after a very visible engine malfunction. This got them to thinking after a few drinks.

"Why not check those Cylon wrecks for any Raiders or Heavy Raiders? They could just take those engines and any spare parts and tools that were laying around inside of the wrecks." That became the keystone for a lot more detailed idea that was quickly worked up.

It would seem that a lot of the Earthers had been sitting around having a few cocktails and thinking about all of that material just floating in space unused. And thinking that they might be able to take advantage of it. John had been told the reason for not cleaning up the Cylon battle wreckage and he agreed with the principle. Then the Earther dropped his other little bombshell on Admiral Adama. Would the Cylons really miss a few missiles or repair parts that might still be left on those dead hulks? All they need to do is be careful when they did the grabbing.

The Earthers and Bill's own knuckle draggers would love to figure out how any of those items worked. What if they could make a salvage run or two, and pull some nice little goodies out of those wrecks? They could work on ways to counter those insanely effective seeking weapons the Cylons had been using on them besides having to shoot each one down with outgoing fire.

The Earthers had been able to recover some missiles and had turned them over to the Colonials already. But Bill wanted more of them. A lot more. As many as he could get his greasy old hands on. Adama was thinking that if they had enough them, then maybe they could modify them for Vipers or Raptors to use against their makers. Well, that would be very nice. And it was also a scenario where he would not have to divert a lot of resources to build replacements for the weapons he was using up. Now add to getting a few of those missiles the possibility of getting some compact class jump engines, or even just some spare parts for them?

That would help with an area that his support ships were falling behind on. The Raptor's jump engine was the smallest ever known. That is, until the Cylons showed that they could put them on Raiders as well as larger Heavy Raiders. Still, making Raptor sized engines took special skills, tools, and other items that Bill Adama was already short and getting in shorter supply of by the day.

So the plan was to enter the larger parts of the wrecks. They were to look for any missile magazines or areas where the 'friendly' Cylons said something of value might be located. During the planning brief, it came up that the salvage team also wanted to search the many missile tubes that the wreck had. Bill had vetoed that idea with some prejudice. Colonial and Cylon doctrine always said that a missile was live as soon as it was loaded into any type of launching device.

And the one thing you did not want to do was mess with a live Cylon warhead. Or any other live warhead for that matter. Such things tended to suddenly decide to go into unfriendly mode without at least kissing you first. The highly specialized Colonial explosive techs did not even mess with trying to work on them. They had a simple rule, blow them in place, and fix the damage later. It just was not worth losing a bomb or ordnance disposal team ninety-nine times out of a hundred. All while the disarming tech tries working on disabling the warheads.

This expedition's raiders were using full Earther made Environmental Body Armor, or what they called EBA for short, and a few of their smaller armed manned robots. On the Colonial side was some of their deep space suits, along with their newly acquired Chipwell Challenger power armors on their first live mission. The idea was that they would use the built in strength advantage that the Earther machines gave them. They could rip through any hatches and bulkheads that might get in the way. Bill knew that even the heavy hatches that protected a Battlestar's ammunition bunkers where not that much stronger than the average Heavy Raider hull. If that held true for Cylon construction, they should be able to do the job quite nicely. The only way to know, was to gain the first hand experience doing the task. They could always bring up a few more of the larger machines to do the lifting for them if it came down to it.

Adama had also nixed the idea of using any Colonial or Earth made cutting tools while in the Cylon wrecked hulls. Adama felt that it would leave too many clues about who had done the damage post battle. If any Cylon took the time and boarded the wrecks after the Colonials were gone, they would quickly be able to work out a good idea of when the cutting had taken place. The only clues they intended to leave should point to something big or catastrophic having ripped or torn the hatches off their mounts during the battle. Adama could not help himself from grinning at the thought of a Number One Cylon called John trying to work out what had happened to the three Basestars while they had been gone. He hoped that it would cause a lot of sleepless nights for him, the other Number Ones, and any other human form who would see the damage these two battlestars had caused. It may well be the first time for the Cylons to see what a pair of battlestars could do to a Cylon battle fleet.

His final note was that they were only to take things that might be of very high value, yet small enough that they would not be noticed missing. In other words, they would have to leave behind any Cylon bodies, Raiders, or Heavy Raiders behind. He signed his name at the bottom of each page and passed the whole file off to one of his staff. His staff would take care of copying it and passing it out to those who needed copies, as well as entering it into the ship's logs for future review.

Adama finished up some more mundane paperwork, did his rounds around the CIC again, and after checking the large clock at one end of the CIC, he then headed to the Raptor landing bay to meet up with Laura. He was planning to take the rest of the day off, and spend some time watching a movie the Earthers had given him. He was going to be with Laura on what they were calling a date night. He had no idea what a Hobbit was or might be, but he had been given the 'Complete Set' to be returned only after he had viewed all of the movies in the box set.

This was the first time that Laura and he could set aside a block of time to do something together like a good old fashion date. So they had blocked off ten hours, to just be together with each other, the movies, and some food. It was not as much time as he wanted to set aside, but both of the leaders had their own full schedules to deal with. It had taken a fair amount of juggling just to get those hours for tonight. To have asked for more would have tempted fate a little too much.

* * *

Eleven hours later, and just before the evening meal was severed on the different ships' mess halls, Adama was back in the CIC of his flagship, and Laura was heading back to her ship. She still had a full set of meetings that would last long into the night, again. He was looking around his work area, and he could tell that it was missing... something. He was trying to remember what it was, and then it hit him like a bat to the knees. Bill looked around the room quickly, and found who he was looking for. He was kicking himself for being so recharged that it had taken a little bit of time for his mind to get back into the game of being the fleet's Admiral again.

"Colonel TIgh, the Chief was supposed to have a report for me before evening meal. I have not seen him." In the old days, that would have been all he needed to say to launch the guided missile of an XO rampaging around the old Battlestar looking for the report. Or more to the point, he would be looking for the person or persons, who were supposed to have done said report. Bill had a smile on the inside as he visualized all of the havoc Saul Tigh had done in similar situations in the not too distant past. He really was a great XO.

The XO of the ship looked up when his name was called. However, he did not explode like Adama had expected him to do. Instead he walked smoothly over to the fleet commander and his friend.

"Bill, he dropped it off a few hours ago." He reached under the table, and pulled out a few sheets of cut cornered paper from a lower area by the Admiral's legs. Saul thumbed through the stack, making sure that it was complete, then passed them over to the commander. He had been keeping it out of sight so that the wrong eyes did not see it. The last thing he wanted was for any more information to be leaked to the Quorum. In Saul's opinion, they had been causing more and more issues of late. And so far any issue they caused had been an issue that did not need to happen.

Adama gave his friend a small smile, one that the rest of the staff would find hard to see. That is if they happened to be looking the right way, and were not busy. Both were in short supply at that moment. He reached across the narrow part of the table to take the file in his hands.

"Good. Did you read it?" He had his suppositions, but he wanted to see what the other person might say to the question. He was still trying to figure out if his friend was still his friend or something else entirely. He knew what way he was leaning, and he knew that he was leaning that way more and more every day.

Saul put both of his hands flat on the table, and leaned closer to the fleet commander. "Yeah, I frakking did. Tyrol tested both repaired samples, exactly as you ordered him to."

Saul stopped talking for a few minutes. He was wondering about how and why the Chief had made sure to say those words his report. He was wondering what parameters Bill had given the Chief for the tests that had been run. "The one that he used that Cylon goop on came back rated at just over fifteen percent stronger compared to damage repaired with our usual procedures. Even with letting it set for only three hours before they started with the testing. They spent six hours working on the second test object using standard methods before they started the strength test. The rest of the report is just a long winded way to say that it's a quicker, stronger, and easier way to do the job of repairing hull. That is, if we can find enough of the stuff to be worthwhile. Or have enough of the stuff that will work to do us any good." It had not been uncommon for the XO to read the incoming reports and then paraphrase them for the battlestar's commander before the Cylon attack.

Saul looked around the CIC, but he did not see any hint that any unwanted ears were turned his way. "Me, I think that if you add in how long it would take to make the repair materials themselves. And that's not counting what we would have to stop making while those materials are being produced. It's a no-brainer on what method we should try to use. If we can."

Saul was looking and knew his ex-friend was evaluating every word he had said, as well as the tone he had used while telling what he was thinking. A part of Saul's mind gave a slight flutter as a long ago memory came bubbling up. It was just as he had done, back when they had first started working together many years ago.

Adama felt that he was nodding his head as he flipped through the pages and listened to Saul give him an overview and his opinion of the report. "I was afraid of that. Glad I put the Cylon stuff on the wish list for tomorrow's mission already. We will just have to wait and see what the boys find over there. Why court trouble, and make wishes, if we don't have to?"

Adama was wondering what kind of trouble he would have to deal with when word got out to the press about him using Cylon technology to repair the flagship of what remained of the human fleet. Some might liken it to spilling human blood in a temple to the gods or something equally as bad. Sometimes it was hard to figure out what was going to push a group off the deep end.

Saul gave his friend an odd little smile that very few in the CIC would be able to translate. "I was thinking the same thing. Glad you told me about the change." He gave a soft snort. "I would have looked like a frakking ass if I had told them before they launched, not knowing it was in their orders already. Do you think that we might be able to expand to the full list after this test run?"

What very few people knew was that there was a bigger plan. It would depend on how this first run went, and on what part of the next phase Bill would announce as his new idea to the real world. Bill was the only one who could clear the teams to mount more expeditions. Bill was more worried about ruining the stage he had made sure was set up than finding everything that might be useful.

Both men just smiled at each other, and it was almost like old times for a few long seconds. Adama did not have anything else to do, so he spent the next few hours talking with his friend the Cylon. The same one that also was the XO he knew and trusted for all of those years. Again for the hundredth time in the last couple of years. It would seem that the Cylons had made the human forms too much like humans for them not to be humans in the end. They were even standing in the same location, and giving the same body language that was an old habit for the pair.

 _"What a way for a plan to back fire on someone,"_ thought Bill while he was updating his logs back in his cabin before turning in for much needed sleep. He had put down all of his thoughts, and his concerns went down beside them. He even included thoughts about the Cylons making human forms too much like humans. So much so that in the end they turned out to be more human than machine. That they also had been made with the ability to weigh different ideals, and change loyalties to fit their newly chosen ideals.

* * *

Early the next day, just as the sun was rising over the bay that the Earther Settlement called home, one Raptor and one of the slab-sided Colonial cargo shuttles cleared the thin upper atmosphere of the planet at a steady pace used for fuel efficiency rather than speed. It was soon met by a pair of Raptors that had taken off from the now fully repaired Battlestar Pegasus. Three of the four ships were going to have a full day ahead of them in a very high stress environment. The trip to the first bit of Cylon wreckage was only a few hours of flight away, but the crews on those small craft had very high, most would say overly optimistic, hopes for the success of today's tasks. Then again, most of the people in those craft, were just happy to be getting the space time. That, along with the extra pay that went with the stress was very welcome to most of them. The bragging rights also did not hurt at all.

The cargo carrier was going to be the center of the operation. Due to its larger cargo area, it was also carrying most of the people for today's task on the first leg of this mission. Inside of the Colonial cargo ship, the only sound that could be heard was the sound of air moving around the outer hull. Soon the steady vibration of the engines overrode that sound. John Keller was looking over the people and equipment that were his responsibility for today. As long as the mission was on, he can not help but consider it his command.

John's eyes lingered over one of the Cylons who would be helping out today. It seemed to him that Kathy was looking worried as she stared off, lost in her own mind. And she was rubbing her hands on the three gold chevrons attached to her suit sleeve. This marked her new rank in the Earthers' combat forces for everyone to see. Each person in this group had volunteered for the task, no matter how dangerous it might turn out to be. Within only an hour that the notice had been posted, more volunteers had turned up than there was space in all of the assigned small craft. Even if they had doubled the number of craft planned, they would still have had too many volunteers.

Kathy had no idea how she had been chosen to be on the team. But she was glad that she was going on today's mission. Most of the people on the mission did not have the right equipment on their own to do the work that was expected to be performed. They all had been selected because of their skills in their heads or hands, and not what they had in their personal weapons lockers. Some had had to sign a loan for a list of items from the leadership's supplied stores. They would all have to be cleaned, and any repairs made before they can go back into storage where they would stay in case of a future need by someone else.

John felt a slight bump through the soles of his feet. He did not need to be told what had caused it. He knew that it would be the fourth Raptor assigned to this mission attaching itself to the airlock of the slower moving cargo ship. It would be transferring most of the Colonial personnel needed for the operation, to this one larger craft.

It normally would be a bad idea to mix groups who have never worked together on a mission in the unforgiving rigors of deep space. But the Colonials had both the space experience, and the ships to make this mission happen at all. Even after a lot of burnt brain cells, he could not find any other way around this road block.

So John had had to make a deal. After all, it had been mainly his idea. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense for the Colonials to come along after all. If for no other reason than that it would add people who knew how to apply a quick patch to a leaking suit in the Death Zones. The one equalizer in this whole mission, was that both groups did not have much experience in Zero Gravity. Most nonmilitary Colonials had never been in Zero Gravity. It had not been a common situation for a few hundred years for them. All of their ships and space stations had artificial gravity, and the crews and passengers had always felt that they were still on a planet. The Colonial military did spend some time in zero-g, because during the first war with the Cylons, they had acquired a taste for shutting off life support. And that included the gravity providing plates and subsystems.

All of the little ships were attached to the cargo shuttle sides at different points. The idea was to save fuel, and at the same time let the crews work on a few skills. Skills that might have gotten rusty, or did not exist at all, during their time running and hiding from the Cylons. Those refreshed skills would be put to use in the very near future in scenarios that would not be as forgiving as training situations. The training was better done out and away from sight of most armchair spacers. The Admiral had pushed this modification after reviewing a recent Raptor mission that had not gone so well. The crew had lived, but if that had happened in combat, the Cylons would have killed the crew and craft with obscene ease.

* * *

John was so engrossed in looking at the internal corridor diagram of the first target Basestar that he did not notice that one of the Colonial crewmen had walked into the cargo bay from the command section of the small craft. When she flipped a wall mounted switch, it activated an internal communication system. He almost jumped out of his suit in surprise at the blast of static that came through his helmet mounted speakers.

The high pitched female voice came through the speakers in each of the suits that were being held in the cargo area of the intersystem cargo shuttle. "Okay People, we are almost to the target area. I am venting the ship on the count of ten. You need to keep an eye on your frakking buddy. If they or you need help, you need to sing out first and think later! I have not lost a cargo yet, and I don't not intend on doing so today. If I did not let the Cylons stop the mail, neither will I let a bunch of space green horns do so today."

The Colonial had spoken in a mishmash of Caprican and English for everyone to understand what was being said. She also spoke slowly, so that everyone could understand. She stopped talking and smiled as each person in the cargo bay held up a single thumb to show that they understood what had been said. This was the universally agreed upon signal that the message was understood loud and clear. This way someone did not get overlooked. With too many voices coming over the speakers at one time, it could get confusing. Working in space was dangerous even if you understood perfectly every word that was said to you or your buddy. If someone did not give a thumbs up, the issue would be readdressed right then. Not five minutes later, right frakking then.

John looked at the read outs for his suit, then the read outs on each of the people that were on his immediate left and right. The same was being done by each of the people in the cargo bay. This was no time to be a hero, not when they were about to lose the atmosphere. Just after he checked the person on his right, the lights in the cargo area went very strange. It was the atmosphere being pumped out of the bay and back into the tanks of the small craft. Without those mix of lightweight molecules to scatter the light, it seemed like all of the light in the cabin somehow got colder and weaker in just a few seconds.

A new female voice came in through his speakers and he, as well as all the other suits helmets, looked up at the sound. "Co-pilot, are we safe and ready to open the main hatch to space?" The voice was unknown to John, but that was not that big of a deal. He did not know that many Colonials by voice yet. He was getting better every day, though. Just like they were doing with the voices from people that had called Earth home.

Each of the suits gave their single thumbs up sign again. Then the lone standing Colonial hit a switch. One that normally had to be hit by two people to override the safety. The oversized hatch at one end of the bay swung open without a sound. It did not even have the very little vibrations that could usually be felt through the suits' contact with the ship. The few stars that they could see through the small, open hatch was the first thing to stand out to the people in the cargo bay. They were crisp, sharp, and did not have the twinkling effect typically seen when they were viewed from a planet's surface. It seemed like none of them had ever seen this many stars before in their lives. This time they did not have a glowing planet blocking their field of view of the great stars and nebula surrounding them on all sides.

The Earthers had not seen a lot of stars since they had been on this cold planet. So it was even more striking to them than to a Colonial having his first time in vacuum. Then the amazing sight was blocked by a Raptor moving across the hatch's fully opened metal mouth. Through the open maw of the hatch, it was easy to see someone in a Colonial made space suit standing in the opened doorway of the Raptor with an odd looking device in his hands.

The strange looking hand held device gave a puff of white gases, and something floated the few hundred meters to the open bay of the cargo ship. This was where the Colonial, who was still standing in the opened hatch waited. She was there for a purpose, and was able to stop the object with a quick grab of her hands. In a few additional quick hand movements, which were unseen by the rest of the passengers as her bulky suit blocked their line of sight, a thick wire connected the two Colonial made ships together in the black of space far away from any planet or other man-made objects.

John and the rest of the people in this now fully atmosphereless bay, knew what the device was before it had been fired at them. That was because they had practiced something like this a few dozen times while helping with the modifications that needed to be done to the Lucky Find. When the line was ready, the Colonial in the shuttle turned slightly and gave John a thumb up signal. She was saying that it was safe to start the next small step in the very complex plan. She could have given two, but with the hatch open to deep space, you always kept one hand attached to the ship.

John gave the single thumb sign back, and all of the helmeted covered heads turned towards him almost as if they were one being. Everyone would stay off the radio unless they thought it might be an emergency of some kind. That skill had been hard to train into the Earthers. It took a while until they got used to working on the outer hull of the ocean ship turned spaceship. These people had been the best, if not the first, at both figuring that out, and putting it into practice. Knowing and doing sometimes were not the same thing.

"Okay. By the numbers people. I want numbers one through five on the line first. Make sure you and your buddy are properly connected before you step to the door and take the ride over."

John was number one, so he would be the first one on this test run. He walked to the hatch, grateful for the artificial gravity plating on this ship. It was almost like he was walking out of an airlock on one of the small sub surface craft. He also knew that his stomach was not going to like him very much in the next few minutes. John made sure to check all of the readouts in his helmet, then give one final look to check for any leaks that might have popped up while he moved around the small craft. He was doing everything he could think of to get his mind off of what he was about to do. It just was not something that a sane person should be doing.

"Next time John. Just send a frakking memo." John could not remember who had told him that line or where it might have come from. Now he understood every letter of the phrase, and why it might have been said before by someone so long ago.

The Colonial standing in the hatch hooked a leader line to an attachment point on John's suit, and gave it a tug hard enough to almost take John off of his feet. When she was sure everything was good to go, then, and only then, did she gave a hand wave to the Raptor floating along out in space. Before John could say a word to stop what was about to happen. He was yanked out of the cargo ship's bay so hard that he thought he might have broken his back, or at least popped a few vertebrae out of alignment from the force of the tug.

The Colonial made SAR line pulled him all the way to the Raptor's open door in a just a few seconds. But it was a few seconds of sheer unmitigated terror. It happened so fast that John did not even have time to scream after the sound of his back popping reached his own ears through the suit. Then it was over, and the Raptor crewmen attached a second line to his suit before releasing the leader line. The leader line was sent to fly back over to the cargo shuttle. It was moving even faster than it did when he was attached to it.

Nine of the other suits that the cargo ship had carried into space were sent over to the Raptor in less than five minutes. All using the same line that John had used. The SAR line returned to the crewman on the Raptor's door one last time to be recovered by its crew for later use. Then with a few jets of gas from different parts of the little military craft fired in seemingly random order, it moved away from the larger cargo craft.

It was soon replaced by the second Raptor, to load its portion of the salvage crew from the cargo carrier. Every move was being recorded by both Colonial and Earth made systems for later study, review and critique for any improvements that could be identified. That part was going to suck, but it also was something they could not get out off.

The Earthers standing on the wing of the first Raptor took the time to do some sightseeing while their ride made the rest of the journey to the target piece of Cylon wreckage. Only about half of the whole group from Rifts Earth had spent that much time in space. And all of that had been when they were helping or working on the Lucky Find being mated to the hull of the Colonial battlestar. That would have meant this small group of people had more space experience than any other group on the Earth where they had come from. But that was not saying much in the first place. They would have been shocked to learn that they now had more time in the vacuum of open space than most astronauts could count up into the early 21st century.

John even did some of this sightseeing for a few minutes. It was an impressive sight, until one part of his mind told him that he had things that needed to be done instead of just look at the stars. Now he started looking for the target they were going to board. He needed some of the help provided by this suit to see the target. It was still so far way, with so little light reflecting off of the gunmetal hull, that it was hard to see unaided. It was strange not to be able to see something until it was a lot closer. He had expected to be able to see just like he did planetside on a clear and sunny day. That was just not the case in space, much less so far from anything that could give a person a frame of reference with which to measure distance. Learning curves always were strange in how they were addressed by the human mind and psyche.

What they were going after was a one of the largest intact sections from one of the destroyed Basestars in this solar system. It was one of the Y sections with the connecting joint ending in a jagged circle, and each of the three ends of the arms missing anywhere from two thirds to a half of what their full length had at one time been. If they could work out any issues on this large hunk of hull, it would be leveraged later. This one had been judged to be the easiest to land on. Besides, the large bit of Cylon hull should give the humans a lot better of a chance of finding what they were looking for.

They had run scans on the wreckage not long after the battle, and it was cold as the local space surrounding it. By now it had been so long without power that any Centurion, Raider or any other Cylon that might have survived the battle would have long since had its battery run dry in the cold volume of space. However today's crews were still going in with lots of firepower ready, just in case those numbers turned out to be wrong. All were hoping that they would not need any of the heavy firepower they were carrying.

One Raptor was going to dock on the longest of the battle damaged arms, and John and his team were going to dock at the damaged area that had been the connecting joint between the top and bottom Y-sections. One of the Colonials, going by the name Felix, would be leading the second group of salvagers today. John had given orders that groups could be broken away from any other group or main body of searchers as long as there was no less than two people in each sub-group.

John had gotten that from the age old rule in ocean diving. The part about always having a buddy next to you while you were under the water. The Admiral had agreed with the intent. And he had reinforced John's order with one of his own that had been passed along.

While John was thinking about the other team on the other Raptor, Athena had picked out where she wanted to attach her craft on the floating wreck of the onetime Cylon capital warship. She was not talking to anyone as she was working on closing the distance to the place she wanted on the hulk. She was considered to be the best Raptor jock in the fleet. This was just another difference between her and the one called Boomer. No one would even think to try to tell her what her job was. Well, they would only do something like that once. She had already developed the reputation for having a very nasty snap kick.

The protruding nub that John's team was going too land on looked like it was one of the main access routes between the two larger halves that used to make up the Cylon ship. Athena had a deft touch, and John could barely feel the thump of the contact being made between the two floating bits through his boots' soles. Once the Colonial made craft had settled on the erstwhile Cylon ship's hull, he unhooked his safety line and stepped off the wing of the little craft. The one he and his team had been using as a deck to ride on for the last few minutes.

The wreck had been without power for months, so it did not have active artificial gravity. But it did have enough mass and spin caused by the battle to give it about a sixth of what Earth or Caprican normal gravity was. John slowly and carefully made his way to the nearest opening in the Cylon ship. Thanks to the skill of Athena, he did not have to walk that far on the battle scarred hull of the Cylon wreck.

John was using a hand held light to look into the dark, sharp toothed mouth of the beast that the plan said he would have to step into. He could see about six meters down the access way, before his light ended on a closed, circular metal hatch. From what he had been briefed about Cylon ship construction, that hatch would have been locked into place either manually during the battle or more likely automatically when one of the sensors detected one of the two ends had been exposed to the vacuum of space. John looked around the hatch, but it did not show any damage that could be seen from this distance.

John let out a breath, and turned his head enough to see that this team had off loaded from the Raptor's left wing. He turned just in time to see Athena exit the open hatch of the Raptor. She had even started making her way toward John's location. She was mostly in the standard issue Colonial space and combat suit she had brought with her when she moved to the Settlement governed area, plus a chest piece from an Earther made armor. She could have worn more, but she was not sure it would not have interfered with her ability to fly the mission. She had developed into a very conservative person when it came to her preferred dress in combat or mission support.

She would be the last one of his assigned team to exit the craft, but the craft was not empty of life. Helo would be staying with the craft, as more of a guard and radio man than anything else. John recalled that just finding a baby sitter both of them could agree on had been almost an epic job in itself. That was until Robin and Eva said one of them would do it. John had overheard part of the story in the bar one night, and Helo had told his two friends about the issue. The pair of women had been more than happy to help look after the little girl.

John smiled inside as he watched Athena coming towards him over the outer hull of the cylon Basestar, one careful step at a time. Athena had already taken up the Earther habit of personalizing her private owned armor. It was still a work in progress, but on the main front of the chest piece was an almost finished image of a woman with a flaming sword in one hand. He wondered what the Raptor coloring might end up being when no one was looking. He knew that some nose art was in the works, if not a completely new paint job for the former Colonial craft. Sometimes the converted where more into it than those born into those ideas.

 _"I have got to keep my head in the game or someone is going to get hurt,"_ thought John as he gave himself a mental shake to get his mind back on the mission. "Okay we have a closed hatch. It's about twenty feet in from the lip. I will go first. Follow me, just like we worked on last night." He did not wait for any replies from his team, before he turned and went up and over the jagged metal lip of the Cylon hull and into the access corridor.

The group walked slowly deeper into the ship. When John reached the sealed hatch, he checked the emergency read outs mounted nearby. The display told him that the corridor on the other side was reading that it had already emptied out into space. John used the amplified strength provided by his suit to rip the closed hatches off its mounts after only two attempts at forcing the hatch open using the Cylon built systems. After that little delay, it went smoother than he had hoped, and deeper they went into the ship looking for the items on their little shopping list. Everyone's heads were on swivels as they went deeper into the dead ship.

Helo could only wait in the Raptor and listen to the Earther made radio hooked into his ship's systems. It was the first modification that the Earthers had done to the Raptor after it had been turned over to them. They had already worked out that if you were going to have an asset like the Raptor, you might want to talk to it. He would make regular contact with each of the team leaders, and then forward the update from those two teams to the flagship on the Colonial made systems.

One of the screens on his station in the Raptor held a digital map of the wreck. And each contact would update the map with the location of the small, and smaller teams' locations within the wreck. This display was mirrored on the CIC's of both of the Battlestars, being updated as Helo relayed the information from regular contacts. Helo would have preferred to be with his wife in case they ran into trouble of some kind, but there were few ECO's who could talk in both English and Caprican.

Every time the thought of them running into active Centurions, or worse, active human forms came up, he would run down the list of reasons why he was not at her side instead of sitting in a Raptor with an ion pistol in his lap. She had enough firepower in her group to take down a full Cylon company. Without calling for back up of any kind. What would one more gun do or add to the equation of firepower? He stopped thinking for a minute and made a note on one of his systems as a few short sentences were passed to him by one of the teams. They were supposed to contact him when they found something that was interesting. Even if it was not on their shopping list, he would mark the location and pass along the data while he worried some more.

Bill was on the flagship as the mission was being run. He had high hopes for this mission, but was also worried about the overall risk involved. He and Saul were staring holes into the flat top command table as they waited. This display along with about half of the monitors around the CIC all had diagrams of the wrecked part of the Basestar displayed on them. They were updated with little red dots, but Bill was getting frustrated that very little hard information was coming in. All he could do was look at the updates, and spin his mental wheels in the mud.

It was after the third or fourth position update, that Bill had finally had enough. He half turned to the Saul. "Is there any way we can get a video data feed or something piped into here? I want to see what is going on for frak's sake!"

Bill pitched his voice just loud enough, so that the rest of the CIC could hear it. This would start the ball rolling even before Saul could start shaking their trees. Bill made his own note about trying to see if any improvements could be added, down the road.

While Saul was starting to relay the question that was now an order, a reply came from the oddest of sources in the over crowed room. A young male voice came from the Damage Control station about half way across the room from the two leaders. It was being relayed through a speaker from the main Damage Control area, a room almost so far aft it was near the massive engines that propelled the million tons of warship through normal space while drinking fuel by the ton.

"Sir, our people on today's mission are in Damage Control rated Suits. They had the longest rating on air supply among what we have on the ship at this time." The young voice broke, and you could almost see someone in that far away room give the person the signal to quickly get to the point or the Colonel or maybe even the Admiral was going to rip his lips off.

The voice was now even more unsteady, as the speakers repeated the words in the main control room. "Anyway, all of the new suits, like we got from Ragnar and the Pegasus, they all have a medium range transmitter for back up communication to Main Damage Control. And a video transmit ability tied into it on a side band. This was so that any battle damage can be assessed by CIC and Main Damage Control directly." The voice trailed off into complete silence, following as the last word was spoken out loud.

Bill could see Saul looking at the speaker mounted near the same area where the Cylon bomb had been found with a confused look on his face. The confusion on Saul's face was matched by the one on Bill's face. Both were caused by two issues. One was that neither man recognized the voice coming over the speaker, and the other was that neither man knew about that ability in the latest generation of Battle Damage suits that they had picked up. The ones the old girl had in her lockers were the oldest ones. Some may have even been used in the last Cylon war. Besides, both men were on the way out of the service and had stopped caring about a growing list of things as their retirement got closer.

Bill finally shot Saul a look, and Saul gave a slight nod before looking around the CIC. "Well, you heard the man. Get that video feed piped in here right the frak now!" Saul was back to bellowing and stomping around the CIC like a bull in a china shop.

Bill had to quickly look down at the table top to hide the slight grin as his XO went about his job of getting the job done. As it turned out the crewman who had brought up the information had been on some extra Damage Control training on the Pegasus as some kind of punishment. That punishment had ended up saving his life.

After that close call, he had focused on learning every part of his job, and he had become so good at learning it that he was transferred to the Flagship. As the two ships regularly switched crews around between them ships to equalize experience, he was rotated aboard. The young man and two equally young assistants had to be brought to the CIC to rig some of the older equipment to receive video feed from the newer suits. It took longer than Bill, or Saul for that matter, wanted to have the job completed. But it was done before the next scheduled location update came in from the teams.

Bill and Saul were shoulder surfing over the newly modified damage control monitor. Saul had made sure that Felix and the other Colonial suits had turned on their cameras. That had been the only delay before the data started coming in. As soon as the screen flickered, it was viewed by those three people alone. It took a while, but in no time at all, Bill was able to start using the multiple views on display to reach an end goal that very few people knew about.

Bills eyes went wide as the view on one part of the display changed suddenly. It was of a team that was backtracking to catch up to another team. One that had found something of interest. Bill's eyes shot open, and his heart skipped a few beats. He slapped the operator on the shoulder overly hard, and pointed to the screen.

Bill was amazed his voice sounded so calm, even to his own ears. "Screen Three. Have them back up to the last hatch. I want them to pan the camera around the hatch frame, slowly." Bill was finding it hard to breathe normally, as he waited for the operator to pass along his orders.

Saul shot Bill a look, but Bill was focused on the screen. The rest of the world could have stopped moving and Bill Adama would not have noticed. Everything else was ignored as the operator relayed the Admiral's commands to the unknown person on the other end of the shifting images.

The person walked backwards, and did as he were told. The hatch frame was soon on display on the screen. Bill did not say anything more as the suit did three or four sweeps of the camera on the hatch frame. The person in the suit traced the hatch frame three times very slowly and did a complete visual scan.

Bill had the most evil looking grin on his face, making Saul think that he could feel some sweat was starting to build up on his lips. He was about to ask what was going on, but Bill shot him a look that could have frozen a star. Saul could only lick the salty sweat off of his lips, and wait to find out what the frak was going on.

Bill looked back down and leaned a little closer to the open ear of the station operator. He started to speak very low and softly almost in the ear of the enlisted person. "Okay, tell them to point the camera at the deck. Have them sweep it left to right, then move it forward. And again, do it slowly. I need some detailed images of the deck pates as they move to about a third of the way to the next hatch."

The operator nodded his head in understanding, and passed along the strange orders. He had to repeat them twice, before saying it was the Admiral's orders. And to just do it for frak's sake before the Colonel got on the line with them.

At some point as the person was still following his instructions, Bill looked up and locked eyes with his XO. It would seem that he had seen enough. "Colonel Tigh, please send a message, in my name to Colonial One, both Raptors, the Cargo shuttle, and both team leaders. They are to take the whole shopping list. I say again. They are to take the whole frakking shopping list, and don't worry about the breakage to the hull. But they better not hurt anything on the shopping list."

Saul's eyebrows now flew up as far as they could go. He had no idea what Bill had seen, but it must have been very good. Before he passed along those orders, he made a note to talk to him in private to find out not only what he had missed, but why it had changed the game so much.


	8. Chapter 8 salvage can be savage

As always reviews are welcome.

This chapter was not beta proofed. also when I moved it from word to this page. The spellcheck did not kick in spacing looks odd.

April 9 2018

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

#####################

Chapter 8: Salvage can be savage

###############

Seventeen hours later, it was dark at the Settlement. All accept a small fire burning under one of the large trees. It was in a little park like area. One which had been set up for that use, not long after the village had reached a population of a few hundred living on land. It was not much of a fire, as a camp fires where measured. It was there to provide some "atmosphere", and not for any major giver of warmth to the people sitting around it. It was filling one of those primal things, which having a fire burning produced in the animal called man. It was something they just needed have from time to time. It just made most people relax some, when they could steer into those flickering red and orange flames and let their minds go back to a less completed time in their evolution.

Sitting around the little fire were four people, all looking deeply into the red and orange flames with blank faces. They were John Keller, Both of the Agathons, and Felix Gaeta. They were the picture of worn out, from both mental and physical exhaustion. They all were staring so blankly into red and orange flames, that they did not hear the person walking quietly up to them. They should have been in bed, but they still had too many chemicals pumping threw their bodies to get any rest. This group had been threw that before to know the signs, and did not want to be steering at a ceiling somewhere.

Captain Kelly had seen the group sitting around the small camping fire, and knew who they were without the roving guards having to tell him. He was expecting an update in the morning, before they left again to ransack the cylon hulks. On a whim, he decided to stop by and talk to them in person tonight instead of waiting for the morning brief.

Kelly closing on them, and then stopped within a few feet and looked closer. He was waiting for them to give some sign, that they were aware of his presents near them. He stood there for about half a minute, and then started getting closer to them slowly. When he was only two steps away, he thought that he had better say something. It was never a good idea to sneak up on people, with live or loaded weapons in the dark of night. When you add the tired level, which they seemed to be at? Well, let's just say that it could only get complicated very quickly.

Kelly decided to use a lighter tone to address the group, he was coming up on from behind. "So you all look like you've had a busy day, today." It was a simple statement, and it was about the only thing that he could think of that should not make them more jumpy. Then he took the last steps, so that they could see him in the dim firelight.

As it turned out. The group was too tired to jump up at the surprise visitor, but they did perk up a bit. When they could see the face of the man entering the firelight. Most just looked at him blankly. Their brains told them, that something was up, but they were too tired to connect all of the dots.

John Keller nodded to the figured, but when he looked to the other tired faces seated around the fire. He realized that it was going to be up to him, to do most of the speaking. Even if he was just as tired as the rest of them around the fire. He had been the person who had come up with the idea, which they had been working on so hard.

"We are beat sir. I'm not going to lie. We were able to hit all of the Major Targets, before I had to stop the operation. The crew is just too burnt out, to risk any more time in a death pressure." John had a bad flash back of a hallway filled with human form cylons. They had been a mix of different types floating around the metal tube. All had died, when the air had slowly leaked out of the sealed corridor into the black of space. It was a long and slow way to die. The look on their faces showed that it had not been a painless death.

When the horrifying mages went away, he had sad eyes when he looked at Kelly again. "I had no idea it would be that bad on the targets."

It was easier to say targets vs wreck, or float scum, or morgue, or even slaughterhouse. All were terms that fit what they had seen inside of those battle damaged hulls today. He had not thought about running into human looking bodies on those wrecks, when he had pitched the idea to Admiral Adama. He was thinking about all of those usefully items that were just waiting to be picked up, and then packed down in a cargo bay in one of the Colonial ships.

Kelly was nodding, in understanding of what John was saying out loud. He had thought two straight days of salvaging would be too much in the first place. Unlike John, He had done that kind of work growing up back on Earth. But it had been on ocean going ships, and not spaceships. In the end, he had let the plan go forward. All without suggesting, that they should take a day or two off between runs into those wrecks. Kelly had quickly starting regretting, at least not voicing his concern to the Colonial leadership. For one of the few time, since they had been on this planet, he had not listen to his gut and what his experience told him. He had been counting on the experience of the Colonials, in anything related to space and space activates. That had turned out to have not been the best play to have called today. Kelly decided that he was going to change that, right now. He took a deep breath and his mind came up with what he thought, he needed to do.

Kelly stepped a little more forward, so that he was as a little closer to the fire. Now he was in the center of the group. "Why don't you all take the day off, tomorrow? We can say it's a safety stand down, or something along those lines."

When Kelly started looking over each person in the group, his eyes stopped on the only woman in the group. He could see the wire coming out of Athena's arm swaying in the light breeze in the night air. He knew that she had been using it to check at random points to access the Basestars main computers. It was kind of gross looking to the average person, and she would not have left it hanging out like that. That is, unless she was just too tired to care about how it looked. That kind of tired killed people on the ocean, and under the ocean even faster. He could only imagine that it was worse in space. That was the final straw, no matter what Bill Adama or Laura Roslin might think. He was going t take charge of this mission.

"In fact, why don't you just catch me up now? And save the full report till you're done completely, or that you need something." Kelly stopped talking for a few seconds, and then did a little head nod that was more to himself. "Okay? And I will call Adama. I will let him know about the stand down."

John was not known for making any movements that were not necessary, so the head bob was notice by the Captain standing between him and the fire. "That would be great Sir. I will pass along the message that we are holding off one day, twenty-four hours. I think your right. I was thinking that also, but I was going to wait. At least until I saw everyone before we went up again. I hope that I would throw the flag, if it was not safe to launch." His voice sound both tired and relieved at the same time.

John reached into a coat pocket, and pulled out little silver box, and tapped for a few seconds on it with a skin of one fingertip. This would blast out a texted message to very one, that the next mission was pushed back for twenty-four hours. The little device was a very short ranged, so only the people with in the walls of the settlement would get the message. It also could only be used, when all commination security had been released that the Settlement had been living under. Like say when you had a few million tons of friendly Colonial space battleships sitting over your head. Little things like the made it okay to use the device from time to time.

With that task complete. John pulled out a little green pad of paper that was waterproof, but you could still write on it with a pen or lead pencil. He flipped threw a few pages to find the area that had the latest addition, and started reading to the Captain. As it turned out it worked pretty well in space, or at least in zero g it had.

"Okay, we were able to pull out a lot of stuff on the shopping list already. And what we could not get in the time we had on station? We made sure to mark on the maps were to go for the other items of interest. We had to run cargo shuttle back one at a time. They were just packed to almost to over filling with what we pulled out. It would have been quicker, if we could have just unloaded it on Colonial ships. Instead of sending it down to that empty field to be unloaded, and then lift back off. That alone caused us a lot of lost time."

Kelly held up his hands to stop the other man from going farther down that rabbit hole. "Yes it would. But both Adamas and I, did not want anti-ship missiles that might be armed or that might have been tampered with on one of their spaceships." Kelly let a sly little smile come to his face. "And oh by the way, one of these missile you sent down. It may have been fitted with a nuclear warhead of unknown size. Would you have wanted to put that weapons can put in your pressurized steal beer can of a ship?" Kelly's voice was light, and almost sing song as he said the last few sentences.

Kelly could tell that John had not thought about that, but he could see the wheels turning. Then both men turned to the sound of Athena's gasping, at the thought of a nuclear weapon going off inside the Pegasus or Bucket. Then John opened his mouth as he pictured one of those warships come apart at the seams because a nuc had been put under there thick armored hull. He face, now looked a whole lot like the human looking cylons near him was right about then.

"Okay, then why did you have us bring them down? And put them in the Settlement, if they are that dangerous?" All of those items that had been recovered were sitting outside the wooden wall that separated the village from the rest of this planet. That was the first stage area, which was handling any shorting of the take from the cylon wrecks.

Kelly gave the very tired man a cocky smile. "Because you and Athena said that they were safe, of course. Why would I put them anywhere else? At least there, we could keep a sharp eye on all of them. What, do you want some of the Colonials deciding that maybe they could pop one open and write a little love note on one?"

Kelly had made the comment off hand about trusting the cylon and her husband, but it struck them both between the eyes. And it took everyone a few seconds to reply to what he had said. When the brains caught up to this mouth. John went back to his notebook ready to change the subject any way he could. They all had worked very hard, and he wanted his boss to know it, by being able to quantify it. The little love note jab, was him referring to the missing Colonial weapon that had blown up the ship called the Cloud 9.

"We think that not all of the damage that was recorded of the Basestar brewing up, was caused by the fuel feed lines or damage to the fuel storage tanks. Most of the ammunition Magazines where blown out, when we got to them. I have no idea if damage to those magazines happened because of the fuel tanks blowing up for the damage that the Admiral did. Or if it was done by, the incoming weapons fire hitting them directly. That has lowered the amount of munitions, which we have been able to salvage so far. Also most all of the intact missile tubes had a hot weapon loaded in them, and as ordered. We left them the frak alone. We looked threw the loading racks, and pulled what we could. I'm surprised there is anything left to check out, from the look of all of that fire damage".

"That's good to know, John. I will pass it to the Adama's. The more they can find out about how to take them out in combat. The better it will be for us, in the longer game. How many more sites were you going to check out, before you call it quits for the first set of looks?"

This was John's mission, and when it was no longer worth the time and or the risk? He would make the call to stop the operation. It was all up to him to work, and plan each move out. If Kelly did not agree? Then he would have to put together a new team, to do the work on whatever was left under his command. There was going to have to be some give and take, as well as a ship load of trust between the two. For this plan to work out, without someone getting killed.

John closed his eyes, he was so tired. That he had to fight for some thoughts, which he could communicate effectively with one of this three leaders. After about ten seconds, he was read. "We did the largest site, and the two nearest to it today. I think we have six or so more sites, which might be worth looking at now that we can pull the whole shopping list. There all smaller than the smallest one, which we boarded today. So they should not take that long, to check out each of them. After that I don't know if anything small will be worthwhile, or worth the risk to check on after that. I think I will leave that up to the Colonials to work out, and do all of the leg work. Don't get me wrong Sir. It was great to work in space, it is just flat amazing. It was just all of the bodies. That was something out of a nightmare to have to live through."

That was about what Kelly was thinking, he had helped recover what was left of a cargo/passenger ship one time with his father. There had been no telling how long it had been logged half underwater, when they had found it. It had been, one hell of a mission and he still could see the half eaten/decaying bodies in some of those hallways.

"Good. Now all of you go get some sleep. I will make sure to get word out to your team about the stand down, just in case they don't get your message. I set up additional roving guards outside and outside the gates, so everything is about as safe as we can make them. If you crash here tonight, they will keep an eye out you also. Just relax and recharge people. I know it was soul shattering having to do what you did today. I think the Admiral will like the idea of you all taking a day off it. I know towards the end he was struggling to find more empty cargo shuttles to shift your way. It took longer to unload the one, than had been planned for. I will pass along what you thought about only having one ready to load at time. It will be good for him to have the mission commander point it out."

The group gave an acknowledgement, and Captain Kelly waved and walked away from the group so that they could decompress without a boss hovering over their shoulders. Kelly had a few more stops to make before he could call it a night. One was to see the storage site, which was filled with the fruits of John and his team's labors.

The storage site for the salvage was on the outer area of the clear strip of land, and outside the protection of the wood faced walls that protected the Settlement as a whole. It was not a given that someone would not try to do something dumb, as the stuff was unloaded from the Colonial cargo craft. That was the reasoning behind that part of the plan, which it was to be stacked on the other side of the wall for now. But a lone scout had been attacked by a single Centurion a week before. It had been while she collecting some rare plant seeds from the trees, which had proven very useful to the Settlement and now the Colonials in general. It had not turned out so well for the lone cylon attacking the human.

Major Weston had ordered additional sweeps to be made of the area, and he had doubled the number of guards around the village. That one scout survived the one cylon attacker, and repeated scouts had only found the tracks from that one cylon. She had fallowed it for miles, before they were washed away in one of the planets many rain storms. Major Weston and Captain Kelly believed in an old saying from home.

"If there is see one landmine, then there are more mines around." So they took what precautions they thought might be needed, just in case. Then again, any Earther who left their cabin in the morning. Always had at least one ranged weapon, on their person at all times. The group that had been setting by the fire had more firepower on their hips, than a dozen Centurions could carry into battle. Then when you added in the dozen guards outside the wall, and the four to six that were on the wall. Well it was a very safe place to sleep under the stars. That is if you did not mind the damp and possible light rain shower falling before sunrise on your head.

Kelly walked back to the gate, but he went up on one of the firing steps and stepped out onto the massive constructions. This was so that he could get a better view of the cleared space between the wall, and forest that covered the major land mass of this planet. He scanned the area with the good old mark one eye balls, but he could only see the glow of the fire off to one side. He pulled out a pair of night vision goggles, and did a deeper scan of the area again.

The cleared area jump out in pretty good detail. He knew from keeping an ear out. That spread out in front of him, was over six hundred tons of used cylon "stuff". All that had been pulled off of those wrecks do far. The cargo shuttle had a higher lift capability for the number of landing it had to do today, than the total mass laid out in the grass. But with suspect ordnance, that had made up some loads that had carried today. They had not been stacked it to the deck heads. Like they normally would or could, and did on some of those runs.

Kelly still had a lot of things to do, so he was not able to linger long as he wanted to look over the wall at the mass of salvage spread out in the far wood line. Kelly was proud of his people, both for coming up with the base idea, being able to pitch it, and then carrying out the plan so far. He would have to wait for the full report to find out what they had found, and how much of anything that they had found. He knew that they had tried to mark what was pulled out, but he had been listening on the radio and sometimes it was more of. "Hey that looks like it's on the shopping list. Dave why don't you just grab that, and take it back for the next shuttle to pick up".

With a shrug of his shoulders. A tired Kelly went back down the wooden steps, and back to his ship. He still had to finish up some work, before calling it a night. He still needed to contact Bill Adama about the safety stand down he had all but ordered to happen. He would not be able to lie down in his bed, until almost midnight. And this was the close of a "normal" day for on Captain Kelly.

##############

Three days later John, Felix, Kelly, both Adamas, Laura, and Tyrol were all in the senior briefing room on board the Battlestar Pegasus for an updated meeting, It would be on the status of what everyone had started calling "Operation Shopping Spree." John was leading the briefing at the head of the massive table. He had a lot of help from the Admiral's staff, along with Felix, and as well as some help from Captain Kelly. The last, had been mainly on how to put the final briefing together for this group of leaders to be given. But he was the one that was going to have to stand up, and give out the information to the most powerful people in the fleet. He also knew that a copy of his briefing was going to be passed around to every person on the planet or in space, which even had the lightest thought that they were a mover and shaker in this small group of humans.

John was not use to giving briefings, and it showed in how he carried himself from his seat off to one side of the room to the briefing podium at the front of the room. No one in this group would not let him off the hook because of his inexperience. They were all more than game to make correction, and would point out items he needed to work on later. The bad part was that he knew that they would do this. The whole operation had been his idea, and he had pushed to be the mission leader. So along with that mission requirement, was a requirement to back briefing leadership on how well or poorly the mission went after all. Sometimes it was the fine print, which causes the most issues for you.

John took a deep breath, and he tried to do that without giving an audible sound. Then he rolled into his briefing points, which he knew that he needed to cover. "Frist off. We have complete searching all the sites, which we thought were at first viable for our salvage mission. The list of each of the target description and location are in each of your briefing packets. We covered eighteen targets in total. This is up from the planned dozen that we had originally planned on, and we did it without any loss of life. We did have eight reported issues with leaking suits, and thanks to our Colonial partners." John pointed with his off hand and gave a head nod toward Felix.

John turned back to the meeting, now that he acknowledged the help that the Colonials had been to the meeting. "None of those turned into any major life threating events. That does not mean that they were not some close calls, or that people were not badly hurt during those events. In fact, the last person should be out of the hospital in a few days. I understand that they will be ready to back to work in a week, barring any complications with their recovery. I don't know if they will want to be cleared for space duty again, after trying to breathe vacuum."

The person that John had been referring to without saying name, had been a Colonial. And he was a member of the Pegasus crew from the start of new war. John gave a nod to the younger Adama who was seemed to be watching the briefer very closely. John was almost a hundred percent sure that Lee Adama had already known this. But he still wanted the rest of the leadership to know, how dangerous this mission had been. He also wanted anyone, who was not going to be risking their lives to know that also. This mission was not just a case of walking around, and picking up the odd bit of valuable stuff off a ship's deck. As some of the people talking on the "news shows" had been alluding to over the last few days.

Laura waited for a few seconds, but when John looked at his notes and had stopped talking to the meeting as a whole again. She asked the question, which was on the leading side. That did not mean that it was not valid, and it was information that she thought would be good to know. "What caused the leaks in the suits your team was working in?"

John looked up like a scared rabbit, but he was prepared for questions that were not in the brief he had prepared today. This was because, Kelly been told to look out for things like this. He quickly had his little computer out. And he flipped threw a few pages of notes to find the information, that he had been asked for. When he found the information a few seconds later, he looked back up to make eye contact with the person who had asked it.

"Madam President, all but one of the leaks was caused by someone getting hit with something hard, and moving at a very high orbital speed. It was most likely caused by bits of cylons or cylon spaceships. One person suit that was damaged, was by a Raider scale missile. One that did not liking to be moved, and decided to become angry at the handler. We were lucky, and everyone around the event where in heavier Earth made armor at the time of the explosion."

Laura smiled back at the briefer. "Thank you." In her mind, she was having a hard time with the last bit of information. She could not imagine having a missile that could turn a Viper or small civilian ship into scrap metal, going off in someone's hands. And it not be a life ending event for a few people standing close to the thing. If that person had been in a Colonial deep space suit, they still would have been blown into very small bits of high speed organic material. She was thinking that this would be the same for anyone standing in the same room of the event.

John went on to his next slide and started talking, after giving Laura some time to respond to his information. "We had one issue, which we had not even considered in planning this mission. Kathy reported that we left foot prints on some of the decks, and more than a few hand prints on the tops of the transit corridors that we used. These were made as the larger manned units had move down them in the zero gravity of the wrecks. She did not think that it would help the cylons if/when they came back. And it fact, she thinks this would confuse the Frak out of them. And that, by the way, is a direct quote from her."

He put up some slide images of the prints he had been just referencing. It did not take long for the rest to agree with the reported cylon comment. Whoever found those dents would be very confused, if not outright scared out of there ever loving minds when they laid eyes on them.

Bill Adama had an evil grin on his face, and when Laura shot him a look that he knew very well. He decided to come clean. "I saw those prints, shortly after you started in that large wreck. That was why I gave you the go ahead to look for the whole shopping list. I thought that they looked a lot like animal foot prints in mud."

Around the room each of the attendance had flashing in their minds of some human form cylon looking at the deck, and seeing oddly space boot prints. Some of those prints and claw marks were almost two feet long. Along with some of the hand prints on the ceiling, that were twice or three times as big as human's normally were even if they were in a space rated glove. All pressed into the strong steal of the corridors in those wrecks. A round of chuckling went around the room, as whatever images fit their mood played threw their minds. It did lighten the mood of the whole briefing.

When Lee Adama made a cat like noise, and made a clawing motion in the air. He was giving his father a look with his own evil grin. His dad might have been catty, but that was not a bad thing sometimes. And it would indeed cause some head scratching among the returning cylons. It also would play right into the idea that there were monsters here, and that they did not like cylons being in this area. Plus whoever they were? They could reach you in deep space, which was a long ways away from the life giving planet. These were also things that would have freaked out a seasoned Colonial crew. In short, it was exactly what they wanted to do to whoever came to his place. If they could have this whole area marked as "Their Be Monsters Here". That would suit Bill Adama just fine, thank you very much.

John waited for the room to quiet down again, before hitting the button to show the next slide in his briefing. He had his own smile on his face, he had not love for cylons. He blamed them for his coming out a nice quite retirement. "We were not able to find any significant quantity of refined or for that matter raw Tylium on any of the hulks that we did visit." John stopped talking again as the smiles fell and the groans went around the room.

"We have transferred all of the items that Chief Tyrol wanted back up to the Galactic as of today. We were able to pull a dozen Raider sized jump drives, and six Heavy Raiders jump drives. They were pulled right out of the hulls, of that were left on the Basestar for whatever reason. Anything that could be identified as spare parts for them, was also packed up, marked, and shipped out by my teams. We have no idea or have any way to test, to know if any of them are viable engines or not. We also were able to pull out two full loaded and combat equipped Raptors, from the hulks of the cylon craft we checked out. Both were damaged in some degree, but seemed to be air tight from the limited test we did on them.

Laura looked at Bill and then back to John, before looking back over to Bill. "Why did they have human built craft on those ships? I thought you said that the Heavy Raider is a better general purpose small craft than what we use?" Laura was genuinely confused.

Lee spoke before his Father could. "They are. They are longer ranged, have more firepower and can carry more troops. But they could use those Raptors to infiltrate any Colonial groups they may find out here at the edge of nowhere. They could be pirates or other fleeing units from Colonial space. They just can go places that a Heavy Raider cannot. Or maybe you have a few human forms that want stick time, and not have to deal with a Heavy Raiders control biomass.

We also found what we think were between four and six Raptor crushed hulks. They were buried, and not recoverable for reuse. We were able to cut sections out off of some of those hulks. We think that we should be able to pull some useable replacement parts from those cut sections. Wiring and hull plates, we can make without too much trouble. It's the major sub-components, which are time consuming to make. They need to be pulled up to a more stable environment as soon as we can. We would also like to start transferring the salvaged munitions up to one of the Battlestars as soon as we can. Chief Tyrol thinks it would be a good idea to get them out of the weather, as soon as we possibly can. Those things are the last major items left in the field."

After the first day of pulling salvage off of the cylons wrecks. Bill, Kelly, and Laura had flooded the ground area with people to help load, unload, inspected, and if needed repair whatever was coming off of the cylons ships. This had increased the number of people that could do the work, and overall increase the amount of recovered material from the cylon wrecks.

John hit the button again, and a new slide was visible on the wall behind him. "Speaking of munitions, we were able to salvage quite a few of them. But nowhere near what I was hoping for, when I had this great fraking idea. The missile magazines to supply the Raiders and Heavy Raiders seemed to have very little protection built into them."

John hit the button again and again. He cycled through image after image of blasted, fire, and smoke damaged areas of ship. Lee and Bill were the only ones that knew they had been ammunition bunkers of some kind from the images as they flashed on the screen at the front of the room.

"We could only find and save ten Raider or short ranged missiles, none of them of the anti-ship nuclear types. They should fit on the launch rails that we have for the current production of Lighting-Javelins. This is in more of the Chiefs domain than mine, but I would suggest that they be put aside for studying for now. I understand that they are based on Colonial weapons, but seem to be little faster, more maneuverable, and a lot better seekers than what the Pegasus had in her missile bunker. This is only my suggestion, but as the leader of this mission I felt that I needed to bring up at this time."

The military leaders made some notes on their e-pads, but they did not agree or disagree with what John had just said to them. John had thought Lee Adama would at least say something, and when he did not? John waited just a few seconds longer, before going to the next slide. John was a little on the disappointed side, that nothing was said for or against his statement. He had spent a lot of time looking in the morrow preparing for that part of his briefing.

"Strangely we found fifty of what I was told were short ranged anti Viper missile. They were in the area that is known to be a weapons repair area. We were able to find another dozen missile bodies and seeker heads in one area, but that is the limit that of extra parts that we have found for that type of weapon. We think that the local cylon battle group was running short of repair parts for those types of weapons. That might have been the reason that most of the Raiders and Heavy Raiders that we fought against did not have missile weapons loaded. They did not have that many, which were still in any kind of working condition."

John could have sat down, for almost ten minutes after he brought up that subject. As Bill and Lee Adama worked through the theory, which had just been brought up in some not so quiet voice. Nothing else could have been done as those two, first toke apart the idea and then put it back together again. When they were done. Or maybe it was that they were tired and had run out breathe. Silence filled the room for a few seconds before John started back up with his briefing.

"We were able to pull thirty Heavy Raider class missile or Medium range missiles, out of one of the magazine that we found intact. We were even able to find some extra seeker and rocket engines for the same class of weapon, which we had felt were safe to recover. But again, none of the ship killer's type warheads were found for them. We only found the "normal" high explosives warheads for those weapons. We think they all might have been loaded onto Raider or Heavy Raider craft, and those craft were destroyed in combat. We are thinking that it must have been very early in the combat, before the mother craft were taken out by the fleet's heavy hitters."

What the Humans did not know was that the nuclear warheads they were looking for were one of two places. One was floating around in space after they had been blasted out of the storage bunkers, or they were destroyed in the bunks around the hulks. None of the attacking small craft had a nuclear weapon loaded, for the simple fact. That there had not been time to load any on the small cylon attack craft. John would know that they had a few hundred nuclear warheads of all types on the ships that he had left behind that were still in anything like a useable condition. Cosmic rays were very bad, and the cylon ships were not known for their thick armored skins at the best of times.

John was still talking to the group. "At this point we just don't know what happened to them, besides blowing up in there magazines when hit by weapons fire. None of those types of weapons were found in bunkers or on small craft we inspected. What missile we did find were mostly in storage racks along the walls. I would place a money bet, that something is wrong with them. In short, I think we need to talk to some of our more corporative POWs. To see what they might know about the statues of these ranged guided weapons. We have nothing to lose and a lot to gain, we know that they will answer question but they volunteer very little."

That was not good news for the group receiving the meeting, or anyone else who had found out about this mission. There had been high hopes that the nuclear weapon happy cylons would have some. All the way to hopefully a lot more, of those type of weapons on hand. Maybe locked somewhere in what was left of those three capital ships. Then it sank in to them all, at most at the exactly the same second.

There might be wrecked and or dead Raiders or Heavy Raiders floating around this solar system with a few live nuclear weapons still mounted on them. Who knows how the heavy cosmic rays coming from this nebula was going to have an effect on those weapon? That did send a shiver down the two Adama's spines, as they had vision of a Raider or Heavy Raider all of a sudden turning into a ball of light and hard radiation. They had no idea that the cylons had just been that short of missile weapons, before Adama brought his Battlestars back. To say hi to them in the most unfriendly way, that the older Adama could think of.

John could tell, that they were not happy with the results so far. The only reason for the riskiness of his type of mission, had been to find the ship killing nuclear weapons the cylons were known to use so frequently against humans. What John did not know, was that the little tanks that he had been told to pick up were almost as valuable as any nuclear weapons he might have found. What those tanks were fill with, and why they were needed were a closely held secret by the Colonial leadership. The last thing Bill wanted was for a few of those twin tanks to turn up missing.

At least now that the right ores were coming up, at least a few hundred tons a day. John gave himself an internal smile. He knew about the mining of those ores, and he was wondering what was going to happen to it in the near future. This next part of the briefing had been an idea from one of Captain Kelly's staff members. John was hoping that it was a good idea, and not the staffer setting him up for an ass chewing down the road. You know, kind of like in today's briefing? He had not wanted to save the good news, for last part in his brief today. He hit the button again for the next slide to be displayed, and he tried not to grin like an idiot. He did not wait that long, only long enough for the flash that said the image had change. He did not even look over his shoulder to make sure it was the right image or not.

"Now that was not all we found, that might be useful. We did find one main frame, and four different back up data storage areas that were recoverable. We could not down load the navigation data from the ships parts that we boarded. Athena and Kathy tried every time they found a port that was even close to being accessible. It was not made easier with all the bodies, organs and frozen stuff floating around inside the hulks."

"However they were able use those access points, to help to show the way to the good stuff. They were able to help us find the big boys. We were able to successfully pull two hundred of the large capital class missiles. Which you all know are the primary standoff weapons for Basestars to use. Ten of them were the ship killer types we were looking for. And all of these ten warheads were in the hundred and fifty Kiloton yield range. That is according to Kathy, and I will tell you. That she is quite pleased with herself. I know that she is looking forward to all of the free drinks, she will be getting in the bar. That is once this information is released to the general population."

John now could not stop from smiling even bigger, as he looked around the room at the wide eyed looks that were being shot his way. This was the reaction he was expecting all along. He was about to break his own arm patting himself on the back for the idea he and Mabulay had come up with. That night at the bar.

The room was silent, till Saul gave a shout that should have knocked the lights bulbs out of there sockets. "Oh Fraking yea! We can do some damage with those monsters!"

The rest of the room waited till their eyes went down the projected image to see the information for themselves. The image had a lot more details, than John would go over during this briefing. After all the people could read, so why tell them what they could read faster? This was a briefing. Which means brief, not long.

John had a huge cat eating bird smile on his face, and then went to the next slide. If they thought two hundred anti battlestar weapons was something. This was going to blow their shoes right off of their feet.

"Lady and Gentlemen if you like that. You will love what else we found. On our first stop, we were able to find what Athena called "The Orbital Reduction Weapons Magazine" on our second look around. There were five weapons still intact, that we could pull. The rest were too damaged, to risk moving. And the room was very hot to work in, even in the EBA that we had in use. If someone knows a better way to pull out something useful. That will be up to you all to figure out. There might be something useful still down there, but it was damn scary getting what we did." John stopped talking and looked around the room. He wanted to remember each face in as much detail as he could.

The room was so quiet, that they could "hear" the heart of the ship beating under their feet and threw the seat of their paints. Each of the Colonials knew what those weapons were used for. They were not missiles in the since of how a missile "normally" worked. They were more like bombs that were dropped from low orbit, and then fell towards the planet's surface. This was all done by the simple pull of gravity for the first part of their "flight" of the city killing weapons.

When the weapons reached a certain point in its fall from the over flying cylon Basestar. It then would slowly shed parts of the protective nose cone, and release eighteen short ranged, rocket propelled, independently targeted, extremely maneuverable, tactical nuclear warheads. All form the one main body of the civilization killing weapon. They were megalopolis killers pure, and simple. That was what the cylons had used on the defenseless and surrendering Colonial cities, during their surprise attack on the Colonies of Man. Those were the real killers, the megaton ranged weapons were dropped on military and civilian command and control, site, space defense point, and other military targets. Now the humans had five of them, in their warm blooded hands. If John could have read their minds, it would have frozen his heart in fear.

These weapons had been a pure cylon design, and it had come as a surprise to there one time human masters. The first hint of these weapons, had been when the data recovered from Boomers Raptor had been checked out. It had been confirmed by a few of the other of the closer civilian ships, which had survived to join the rag tag fleet so long ago. Once thing had settled down. This data had finally been collected in one area for study, about what had happened to their home planets. It was hopped that with this data, would answer some questions with more detailed than they had before. Bill and Lee were thinking that it was a weapon like this, which had taken out the deeply barred Picon Fleet Headquarters. They knew that it had been taken out by a dozen trip hammer fast nuclear weapons hitting one after the other. Until the base had done off the air.

Laura Roslin was the first one to break the silence of the meeting this time. "By the Gods!" came out of her mouth in a soft voice, which she did not even know that she said those words. It had sounded like a war cry, in the metal walled briefing rom.

Kelly and the whole room heard her perfectly clear. He knew the answer to the question, that he was about to ask. But he felt that it must be asked in front of the group. If only to just to make sure that they knew some of the details.

"John. Do you know if they are still viable as weapons or not?"

There was very little doubt, about what weapons, he was talking about. Quick as snakes, every eye went back to John waiting for the answer that they hoped he would be giving. The longing in those looks were both gratifying, and frightening all at the same time.

John looked at the Captain, because he knew that Captain Kelly already knew the answer to the question. At first he did not know, why he asked that question. Then it hit him. That the others did not know all of what his captain knew. Maybe Captain Kelly did not want to upset any of them by letting them know that he knew things before they did.

"Sir, they were checked out by Athena, to make sure they were safe. And by some of our heavy weapons people, who have worked with weapons of this type of warhead before. The all agree. They are live, viable, and safe to handle under normal circumstances. We just have to reprogram them, with Colonial software. To make them go find something and go boom on, without the cylons having a chance to high jack them mid delivery."

He looked around the room. He could not tell if they were happy or not, with his news. "If there are no farther questions? Than that concludes my briefing on the recovering of items, from the cylon wreckage. I will be followed by Chief Tyrol."

John quickly grabbed his notes, and retreated from the firing line, that he had felt like he had been standing on for way to long. Afterwards, he would compare the emotions of leaving the podium, to the way you felt after a firefight. And you realizing, that you were still alive after all and the bad guys are not.

Tyrol was still stunned by the news about the massive weapons being found, so it took him longer to get ready for his part of the brief than was normal for him to take. "Who would have thought that all of that firepower had been left floating in space after the battle? What if the cylons had been able to recover it, and use it against them again?" Tyrol had to give himself a shake, before he could look at the gathered leadership. He was wonder what was going to be said when that information was released to the fleet. It was sure to be an earth shaker of the first order.

"I wish I had more good news like what John had to hand out, but I don't." Tyrol's briefing style was a lot different than the one John had used. But it was what he was used to giving, after so many years in the service of the fleet. And for that matter, both Adama's were used to the same style. So it was not like someone was going to rake him over the coals about it.

Tyrol tapped the button loudly on the podium, and an image of the Galactica displayed complete with the updated drawings of modifications yet to be made or attached to or on her old hull. "The salvage team searched every wreck of size, and pulled out every one of the cylon bio repair tanks that they could find. I am sorry to say, that it will not be enough to fully repair the Galactica of all of her cracks. As it turned out, over one third of the pressurized containers were reputed by the damage done to the ships that had been carrying them. I think this was simple a design flow in the systems. I don't think that whoever designed them. Had thought about how violent, combat between capital ships can be in space."

Tyrol hit the button again with too much force, and the image changed again. It zoomed into an image that showed greater detail of the center of the Flagship. "We now know, that when they built the old girl. That they skimped, and used poorer quality metals for a lot of her construction basic construction. I ran the numbers just before this meeting again. They are rough, but I have prioritized the areas that I feel we need to use our limited supply. It is based on the overall health and survivable of the vessel as a whole." He looked around the room, and gave them time to ask any questions. But they were all looking at the image with hard eyes. After about half a minute, no questions were offered up to the meeting as a whole.

"I have broken the job into phases, that I think we should leverage our limited supply of the agent the best. 1stPhase is using the bio repair agent on the support members, which will be holding the Earthers ships to the main hull. 2ndPhase would be working the same area of the supports that connects to the still operational Port Hangar Pod to the main hull of the flagship."

Galen hit another button, and that highlighted and marked in two different color areas. They were on different areas of the Battlestar. And they marked the areas to be address as Phase One and Phase Two areas as they related to the rest of the old Battlestar computer engineering drawings. The labels and colors were to help delineate the two different areas.

I know we have enough to do these two phases of repair. Even if we have to end up doing two whole allocations of the bio material to do the repairs. Donna, Athena, and Kathy as well as others, all say you only have to put a thin coat on once per damaged cycle."

He looked at the Admiral with pleading eyes, and he felt that he needed to explain something. "Sir, I have no idea about this stuff. It was developed, after I was mind blocked and sent to the Colonies by the Numbers Ones. I think we need to listen to that group, which had worked with this stuff before. But I don't know if they are being optimistic or pessimistic with their assessment of what this stuff can do on Colonial made structure."

Bill looked at the Chief, it was getting harder and harder to think of him as a mass murdering cylon every day that they worked together. He wondered how long it would take for most of the rest of the Colonials to feel the same that he was. Bill knew that not everyone would look at Tyrol as anything but cylon, and wanting to have it put out the nearest airlock while in deep space. That was just the way the human race was, sometimes.

"We understand Chief. Just give to use straight as you can." Bill almost did not recognize his own voice in his ears.

Tyrol nodded and went back to his briefing, with only a few seconds to get back into the grove of the giving out the data to these power players. "If we don't have to reapply in completion of Phase One and Two. Then the 3rh Phase of the repair is this area of the ship."

He was pointing to the engine area of the flagship. Then he drew a line going up the spine of the great old warship with a light pen. When he knew that all eyes were on the screen, he advanced to a new slide, which would mark out the Areas covered in Phase 3 in its own new color.

"We hope that as we use this stuff, we will get better at applying it. This will give us less wastage, and get more square feet of covered by a given can of the agent. I had been thinking about trying to find any cylons that can be trusted, that might have used this stuff before. If they can give some of my people some training before we start. It might increase the amount of hull, which we can cover from the start.

"I will be only hitting the major keel areas along this area of the thrust frame, and all other critical areas in this phase of application. I you review the notes on this image, it will list all of those major critical area that will be covered. The fourth phase will be moving up along the keel, up to the bow head of the flagship. Again we will be only applying the bio repair agent to the major members of the structure of the ship. Any of the minor areas, that we can use more conventional means to do any repairs that needed to be done. This is the way I'm planning on moving along with the repairs along these phases. I have a few back up plans that I can launch on short notice."

Tyrol took a breath, looked down at his notes. He now knew that cylons could go a long time without sleep, but he was pushing it right up to the line the last few days. "I wanted to keep some of the stuff on hand, for emergencies and maybe some lab work. But I'm told that this stuff has a short storage life. What we have now, will go bad in less than six months. No matter what we do with it. I take it. That one of the items on the John's list to bring back, is a resupply of this agent for the three ships that he had left behind. So I'm going to use it all, as soon as I can. This brings me to Phase Five of my plan. If we have any of the agent left. I will go back to the center of the ship. And I will work my way up from the engines mounts, going to forward covering every square inch of the support structure of the ship. At least the areas that have not been covered before on my first pass through. We will go, until we run out of the stuff."

Tyrol put both of his hand flat on the table, and looked at the group sitting before him. He could feel the metal under his fingers. His mind went quickly to thinking about how long it would before the table top was replaced with a wooden one. Probably made from one of the super hard trees from the planet's surface, and the metal used other places. He waited for what seemed like a long time, but no one tried to sharp shoot him.

"That is my plan, as it stands right now. Do I have any questions at this time?" He wanted to make sure that he was reading the room correctly.

Apollo was looking at the images in his packet of documents, and then looked back that the chief. "Chief how long will it take per Phase, and what is the total planned timeline to complete the repairs? We have a little over sixty days, before the cylons scout is supposed to be in system. More to the point, how long will it take until the Galactica is safe to make a short jump? So that the cylons won't find her, and till she can make the longer trip out from cylon controlled space?" He had flipped through the information packet, and he had not seen the information that he had just asked for.

Tyrol looked up at the ceiling, and he was lost in thought for a few seconds. He had had wanted to tell the younger Adama. That it would be done, when it was done, and not a second longer than that. It was just too bad, that he knew that he would not be able to get away with making the same statement today. If it had been before he had found out that he was a cylon, and he still had that bank of credit? He would have said those exactly words to the younger Adama.

"Sir, I have no idea how long it will take, to use all of the stuff. I was planning only to use a small team to make the application. It will be easier to make sure the stuff is not wasted, or fix any issues that might come up while we are working the main issue of fixing the cracks. I think to be safe enough carrying both Earther ships, it would only be a few weeks at most. This will need to be done, before I would call Phase 1 done. After the last part of that Phase is done, and it has had time to cure fully. This should not be delayed again, but it's another reason not to pull off to many people from other tasks, that are also on a tight timeline. We needed to learn and then learn by doing, while we make the fewest mistakes."

The group turned to the Admiral, to see if he had any input on this subject. It was his ship. And he would have the final say, on what would happen on his lady, and on what timeline. He looked right at Tyrol, and the human form cylon knew that look he was being given. It was "don't Frak this up look". But all he said in this meeting was.

"Chief, it's your baby. Let me know, if you need anything. Phase One, I need done as fast as you can. The other phases? Just get them done, with the most efficient use of the supply of this bio-agent that you have." He was not going to tell him how to skin this cat, and what he had been shown seemed to be the best way to get this job done. Well, done with in the limit of what they could support without having a whole fleet base supporting him.

Tyrol let out a breath, which he did not know he was holding till now for the last few seconds of his briefing. "Will do Sir, I also have an update on the damage from the jump, which I would like to cover at this time. I was able to get it done after your last update." This had been part of the reason that Tyrol was so tired. He had a lot of work that he felt he needed to get done, and he was the only one who could do the jobs.

Tyrol hit the button again, and a zoomed in image taken from a Raptor looking up from ventral side of the Flagship Battlestar. It was looking up into the massive warship from below. It was an odd angle to have an image done, but it worked.

"When we made the last test jump to our maximum range, the stress caused the Lucky Find to shift from the attachment points somewhat. The main and secondary supports all held tight, but the ship did shift a little. Was it the stress of the jump, battle damage, or was it just because the Earth ships were there that caused the shift? I have no idea, and with a docking slip and a couple of years of computer time. We still might never will know for sure why it happened. We were able to pull it almost back into position, but it was not perfect. We could try to reset her again, but it would take some time to cut all of the struts, welds, and cables for another try. Then we would have to maneuver her around for another try, and put everything back together again. What I want to point out, is this one area of how the ship is sitting against the hull of the battlestar. If you look at this area and this open area, which is between the two ship currently."

Tyrol used a green light laser, and pointed to a space between the Earther ship and the main hull of the damaged Battlestar. "We can lock down the Lucky Find right where she is at, without any problems to the support structure or the forming the jump field. One of the engineer staff had the bright idea to rig some testing sensors on her hull and the whole damaged area before we started back. All of the data came back in saying that the jump field stress and coverage, is well within normal speciation for a jump drive this old. If we wanted to bring her in perfect again, it might take an anywhere between a week to three weeks to do the job."

Tyrol kept the green dot on one area, and was looking at the gathered leadership. "I was thinking that if we leave her right where she is, it might give us some added benefits. One, it will make fitting the Revenge into her place a bit easier to the Battlestar's hull. I think it will make the fine tuning and fitting a lot easier, than we were going to have to do before the shifting. What I was thinking about doing is using that space or void, which the shifting of the ship made to good use. With the battle damage supplies that we are not going to use on the fixing the cracks, and some supplies form the Battlestar Pegasus. When word got back to the fleet that we had taken some damage, the manufacturing ships automatically shifty some of their effort into making replacements for the more widely used battle damage items. They are still sitting in storage all over the place, just waiting to be used for something."

Tyrol now turned fully to look at the meeting. He could not do this, and keep the green dot on the right part of the image. The turn also made the pointer useless and he put down the device. He did not like this, and after a few seconds of adjusting. He had the laser pointer back, and looking at the group.

"We could extend the rib bracing here and here, and reinforce these locations." He was pointed to two groups of exposed ribs. Ones that when the Galactica was a battlestar of the line, would have held part of her massive armor belts. Most of the Galactica's armor plate had been removed for use on commissioned ships, when they had decided to turn the old girl into a museum. For the first time, now some of those exposed ribs were going to be an asset, instead of a hindrance they had been since the cylon's sneak attack.

Bill Adama was looking at those exposed ribs. And he again wishes that the armor facilities the Earthers had, were back in full production. So that he could start filling those ribs, with a hard skin of armor plates. His heart ached very time he saw those exposed ribs of his great warship. It was like looking a beloved bet with their rib bones sticking out of their skin. Then he started to think about what the cylon was saying, and he was building it in his mind to go along with the words. Maybe, just maybe. He was on to something, which was way out of the box thinking.

Tyrol had no idea that Bill Adama was doing a little bit of wool gathering, while he talked. "After we finish extending the ribs to the Lucky Find and the Revenge. We can start putting plates over the opened space. It's going to take a lot of those four by four foot plates the Earthers can make. But we could enclose that little void area. It will depend on the amount of bracing we will need. But it should add around 10,000 square feet of additional storage space. That is when it is complete covered with the plates and air tight." He stopped talking to let that sink in, with the rest of the group of leaders. At the looks he had been given and the words were falling out of his mouth rapid fire.

Storage space on a warship was always in high demand, even when you did not have civilians spilling out into the hallways of the ship. And that was even before they found the Earthers, and added there numbers, to the total number of humans in carried by the limited number of ships. Adding anything close to 10,000 square feet of storage to any one of their ships, without needing a building slip. That was just short of god smacking the group in the face.

The younger Adama leaned forward, and his eye brows squished together to make it look like they young man only had one eye brow. "Okay Chief. That has got to be too good to be true. There has to be some kind of catch, or we would have done something like this before in the Colonial Fleet. How is this modification going to affect the jump field, and what about combat damage happening in that area after the modification?" This sounded too good to be true, and as will all things that were too good to be true, it normally was.

Tyrol gave a grin back, to the younger Adama. He had already asked those questions himself when the idea had come to him. "We had no problem getting back to this system, after the Find had slipped in the first place. I also ran the numbers from the jump field computers a hundred times, when I had the idea and they work. The stress recorded in those specific areas are very low, almost the lowest anywhere else on the ship when we do a jump. We most likely won't even be doing more full distance jumps, because the other civilian ships can't keep up with us doing something like that. That means the jump stress will be even lower overall, than we have recorded." Before he could continue the meeting was distracted by a noise.

Bill Adama was head down, and punching away on one of the Earther's little, but powerful computers with fast finger strokes. He made a hurmph noise then looked up, when he realized everyone else in the group had heard him and stopped talking. He just shrugged his shoulder at their looks, but he did not blush. When Roslin gave him slight tilt up of her chin.

"Sorry I was running the numbers, and the Chief is right about the jump stress. I also ran the numbers on thrusting and maneuvering, and they aren't too bad. I remember this coming up before, when they started building the Nova class and the modified Nova, called Atlantia. Instead of putting a cargo area there, that is where the lower hanger launch and landing area was located. We will just have to keep from trying to fly the old girl like a Viper, whenever the cylons catch up with us again. I think the weakened supports in the rest of the ship will give, before that area would. At least, not after we have completed Phase One of the repairs the chief is talking about."

Bill had to take a breath, but he was now looking at Tyrol for the next part that he needed to know about. If he did not like the answer, he did not know if the Chief would be the Chief of the Galactica by the end of the day.

"I don't know about using that space. We would have to run a lot of life support lines for anyone working in there. And it would take months. If not years for enough plate to be laid in that area to stop a heavy hit, that is going to land in that area if our luck reverts back to normal. What would happen to the people, who happened to be in this recovered void when a cylon hammer hits them?" Bill was giving the cylon a level look, and his face was like stone. A lot was riding on what was going to be said in the next few minutes.

Tyrol had a shocked expression on his face. It was almost the same look he had on, when he had been told that Saul and Ellen Tigh were cylons. Tyrol started stammering, to try to defend himself from what the Admiral had just put on the table.

"Sir! I had never thought to put people in that area, even after it is fully enclosed. I was thinking more along the lines, of making a general storage space. Were short space certified or space rated cargo holders. So I was thinking, that we could just put the area to something like three or four PSI of atmosphere. We could put a simple vent system. We could hooked up threw the Lucky Finds Raptor launch boxes. That way, the whole area could be vented into space when the ship goes to battle stations. If this area took a hit and the armor was breached. It would not explosively decompress with the breaches, and that low of pressure should not move things around that much."

Tyrol now was able to get his mind back working, and slowed down his waterfall of words. He took a deep breath and got himself back under full control. "I was thinking that we could use it for raw material storage like metals or even wood. Anything that is not going to be degraded by cold temperature or low air pressure. The metal could be refined, and stored in ingots or plate form. That way more could be stored and stacked more efficiently in the volume we are recovering. Some of the areas, in that void are almost three stories tall. I don't think you should even put food items there, unless they are in a space rated sealed container. The only real problem, I can see is going to be inventory. Most of the metals look the same in those forms. Or if we do take damage in that area, and the items are mixed together like a dealer shuffling cards." Tyrol had a mental image of a pair of gods sized hands shuffling thick stacks of metal plates over and over again.

Tyrol took another breath, and centered his thoughts. "You dumb fraker, he is not attacking you. He just wants to have all of the facts. Besides they are good points, that might be asked by others that are not any were close to your friends", thought Galen as he got himself fully back under mental control.

"The only access pointes into that area, are going to be threw the three ammunitions transfer tubes on the Galactica's side. Those and two of the airlocks that are on the Lucky Finds super structure, and a matching set on the Neptune's Revenge. What I had been thinking, was that most of the refined ores would be brought into the Lucky Find first. From there they would be worked into the finished products of some kind. This would cut down on the time, fuel and wear and tear on the ships moving the needed metal to her first. Then they would transfer the products from the Find, to the Galactica. All of this via the travel tubes we already have put into connecting the ships. If a hit cracks open the armored hull in that area. We might lose some supplies, but that would be about it. I even think that it could even act as a type of large heat sink, for most of the surrounding areas. A few sheets of armor should hold the pressure, and unless we are up to our Fraking necks in cylons. Then we might have other things to worry about, besides venting into space a larger inert cargo area." Galen tried to give a smile, but he would not come to his face. The look was more like one would give after hitting your funny bone, hard.

Both of the Adamas were nodding their heads, as the chief was talking. They did not need the images on the wall, to picture in their heads what he was talking about. As he was talking, they were filling in their own details for years of experience, both powerful, and agile minds. And it was both looking right, and workable in their heads. They were seeing a lot of possibilities, and some of risks that the modifications might have.

Bill Adama hit a roadblock in his mind so hard, that all he could do was blink is eyes a few times. It was just how part of the Chiefs plan, was going to work out. He looked around the room, and then asked the question that had stumped him so badly.

"Chief, that sounds very good. What's the time line for something like this to be completed? You know we are kind of short of time." Bill had to school his features very hard. One part of his mind was jumping up and down. He just might have found a place to put something, which he wanted to keep away from to many eyes, and bodies for that matter.

Tyrol pulled his upper lip into his mouth and sucked on it. This made him look like someone had given him a fat lower lip. It was not a happy look on the human cylons face. "I don't know Sir. There just too many variables for me to give you a timeline. Not with any hopes of sticking to it. If we had a dock or building slip? I might be able to give you a timeline, which was based in at least somewhat in facts. As it is I would just be pulling it out of my Fraking ass." Galen knew that there were too many jobs to do with too few people with the right training. There were also so many things that needed to be done, but they only had so many production areas to support the whole fleet. That was one of the reasons that the Colonial Fleet had built supportstars in the first place. And the last time Tyrol had looked, they were fresh out of those slow battlestar sized vessels.

Bill gave a smile, and started rubbing his chin with this right hand. This little project had a lot of risk, but having that much free and new storage space? Well that just might be worth it, to push some other project to down the road some. That was if they could pull it off, in the first place.

"I just have one last question Chief Tyrol, before I make up my mind on this plan one way or the other. Is this one of those jobs or projects, which has to be finished? Before a Battlestar is able to move or do any of its main jobs?" Bill was still rubbing his chin, and it kind of messed with the words as he was speaking them.

Bill did not need to tell the Chief that had had passed the test, when he had asked about people in that area. It would not have matter if the Chief had been a cylon or not. Any chief that would knowingly risk lives like that? Then they had not place on any ship that Bill Adama was in command of much less a fleet that relied on him as the commander.

Tyrol rocked back on his heels. His head shot up to look at the ceiling for a quick second, before making eye contact with his commander. "Sir. I think I know what you're getting at. After we spray the bio repair stuff, and then letting it set for a few days. You're good to go for full combat operations. Working on turning the void into useable space? We can do it as we have the time, and the resources to put toward the task. I just would not put anything in that area, until it has been completely closed off from space. I don't think we would have to even wait. Until we have any air in the thing, before we start moving refined ores into it. The access points already have airlocks set up, and operational at both ends. So I think it would be safe to move some thing's into it, whenever you give the word that you're happy with it, Sir."

Tyrol had visions of lose items floating out into deep space, threw a half close off storage area. That was bad, but it beat the images of people floating out the same hole. "Maybe I should come up with some way to tie stuff down in there?" As Tyrol thought this, one part of his mind automatically pushed it to an area that already had an impressive list of things stored. All were things that he wanted to get done, or that might be helpful to his people. His people, not the cylon race. His people were the ones that were under the command of the man named Adama.

That was what Bill Adama had hoped to hear, and let he let something positive play across his face for a few seconds. "Well, chief that now means. That you have another project to manage, to go along with all the others you have been dong. Good luck and maybe, you might want to see about finding one or two people to help you out with that. I want a rough milestone briefing, before you start on this project. You set up the milestones, and give the list to me. If I want more milestone or other information? I will add them and send it back to your, for your input on them. I look forward to seeing how this progresses Chief." Bill let a sly grin come to his face for a little longer this time.

"I think you just might have made life a lot easier on everyone on this ship, and maybe the whole fleet with your discovery." What Bill was thinking, that maybe now? He had somewhere to store the raw material to make more nuclear weapons, after they leave this planet. Or for anything else, that did not need a special bunker to protect them and the ship that was carrying them. It would just be a matter of, it this new storage area was ready in time. At worse they could use it the next time they found a useful asteroid belt somewhere.

Tyrol stood up a little straighter. He just realized, that they had approved both his plans. And had done so without any questions or suggestion, on "improving" them. It was proof, no matter what was said at the bar, the Old Man trusted him. So with a smile on his face, Tyrol was able to look at his commander, threw slightly wet eyes.

"Sir, Thank you. I won't let you down." He meant this statement, with all of his heart. And as much soul, as a human form cylon might have. And maybe a little more besides. He would press his cylon body as hard as he could. All to keep, what he felt was a slalom oath.

The older Adama gave the Chief a small smile, and a slight head nod. "No problem Chief. Thank you for the briefing. I was not joking about getting some help. Captain Kelly." The older Adama did not rise from his seat. He merely turned in his chair to look at the person; he wanted to pass the information to.

"I was told last night. That the bend on the last temporary launch bays for the Lucky Find was completed, and this time they have passed all of the testing."

They had pulled two emergency Raptor lifting systems out of the storage from the Battlestar Pegasus. This would give the large Lucky Find a way to launch and recover, anything that was the size of a cargo shuttle or smaller. They had been designed for use on the Mercury class Battlestar. It was in case battle damage causes the massive warship to lose the ability to launch and or recover Raptors, Vipers or supply shuttles like the Gal 356s class.

Those systems had to undergo quite a bit of modification, so that they would fit on the cargo ship. This would be the only way, to get any item larger than what could fit in the six person airlock into the ship. Some of those modifications had not worked as well as had been hopped, or had not lasted as long as had been planned for.

"They also report that they have fix the gravity and orientation problems, in the attachment airlocks." They were having those problems because the gravity decks were ninety degrees off, of what the Galactica gravity pull was giving the local area. "That was the last major punch item, had been overdue. That is besides, now that we know that the Lucky Find is not going to fall off of my hull any time soon. I think we could start moving some of your people, back up by the end of the week. That will give time for this cylon bio repair agents to take a stronger hold in the local area. I think giving it a few extra days for good measure is not a bad thing. If we can afford it." Bill had fallen into command mode without realizing it.

Bill stopped talking for a few seconds to take a sip of water. "Do you have a plan drawn up for the move already to go? That is if we don't have any more surprise problems come up, that is between now and then?" Bill had to take these two tasks off of the Chiefs plate, not long after returning to this system. Bill needed someone to look at the bigger picture, of what had happen to his ship. That was Galen job. These other tasks had been given over to one of the senior engendering people from the Pegasus to look after and fix.

Kelly had looked wards the Admiral, when he had spoken his name. He indeed did have a plan. And he could have legally gotten away with just saying, yes that he had a plan and that would be it. But that was not the politically correct thing to do, not in a meeting at this level. He even had a real smile on his wind and salt stressed face.

"Yes. I will send the updated detailed plan to you, when I get back to my office. We had a complete command and support review of it, just the other day. The basic outline. Is that in twenty-four hours before we start the move? I will need the two largest Cargo Shuttles, not the GAL 356 class ships. When we stripped everything, which might be damaged if it was exposed to vacuum it was put in storage. Now we have to bring it back up. We had to make sure to bring it out of the ship, via the normally passaged ways in that ship. That way we knew that we could get it back in when we were ready. We made a few wooden shipping containers that are too big for smaller cargo shuttle to lift internally. There just was no way that we can make them that airtight, and they will need to be carried by those craft. After their docked to the ship, they will be unloaded the shipping containers threw the airlocks."

Bill and Lee were taking a few notes, but not that many. This had been talked about before today. Kelly went on with his outline. "We will only need those big boys for the first lift. After they are empty of cargo. They can be released back to the fleet, but that could take up to a few weeks to get them both emptied. These are not what we are planning to bring everything else up in. We will also need one cargo shuttle of the GAL 356 class to support the one Raptor with shifting personnel and smaller cargo loads up. The planned first loads of personnel to come up, will be the core crew to reinstall that equipment."

Again this was old news for the meeting, but Kelly knew that he was about to surprise them. "I wanted them to get there future homes set, up before we start anything else. The crews in question know who they are already. They also are ready and I will formally notify them, when I get back to be on a twenty-four hour standby to be ready to pack up, and load up on a shuttle. I planned on giving them up to two days to get their homes set up. That is before they have to start other tasks around the ship that need to be done."

Kelly knew this was not going to be as fast as most of the Colonial Leadership wanted the resettlement to go, but the Triumvirate had to look after their people first. Kelly stopped talking, so that anyone who might have concerns could speak up about this little revelation. Then he could address their issues, or whatever other heartburn they might have then. No one did. When it was clear that no one was going to bring anything up to him yet. He made a slight head nod before continuing with what he had to say.

"Sophia Ryan is the XO of the ship, and will be the point of contact for this part of the operations for the Lucky Find. She will be the one in control of the reoccupation of her ship. Right now, we will be moving ten people a day back to the ship, after that first group has settled in and started working."

Kelly stopped again, so that they could catch up with what he was saying. It also let him get ready for the other turd he was about to put on the table. Everyone who knew about the plan, had all agreed. That this was going to make these people upset, and not in a good way.

"I want you all to know that the ten people number, means ten people in total. Not all will be working on the ships, but will be family's members of whoever is coming up to set up their new homes Each new group will get up to two days, get there personnel stuff and effects in order. Before having to report for work shift on the Lucky Find. After all of the ships core systems have been checked out completely, and then brought full on line first. That includes the weapons, targeting systems, and any of the other sub-systems that the onsite commander deem necessary. The next task will be bringing the built-in old primary life-support systems, and then bring up the new Hydroponics and aeroponics labs back on line."

Apollo had been listening to every word that had been said, and he did not like what he was hearing. These people were going to just take their sweet Fraking time to get moved back into the old ship. And time, was something they did not have much left of. He held his tongue in check for a good ten seconds, before he opened his mouth.

"Captain Kelly, if I remember right. You stripped the Hydroponics labs down to the metal walls and decks. It's going to take weeks to get something like them back up and running again. Not with all the planting that would need to be done. The lifting of the required soil, water, and everything else I can't think of. That is going to take forever. That is, much less than carrying in the backload from the cargo ship to the labs." Lee did not realized, that he had shifted in his chair as he was speaking. By now he was perched on the very edge of his seat. He was still talking, no aware of his very aggressive body language.

"We need to get production of the armor plates back up, as soon as possible. Not as soon as it's convenient. The Lucky Find is already hooked into the Battlestars life support. And it has been working without any issue, even before we did the first test jumps. Do you really need more life support systems, first thing out of the tube?" The tone Lee as went into clearly showed that he was exasperated with the Earther leader.

Lee had more to say to the Earther, but his father's teachings were finally taking hold on the younger Adama. And after his tone had registered to his own ears, and that went to his brain. He had wrapped up his question, as fast as he could get away with. He was just hoping that he did not put his foot in his mouth to deeply, already. He was trying hard not to make a sour face. He did not want Kelly to think was directed at him.

Kelly had known that this was going to be an issue, when the plan was drawn up. But he and the other two leaders, had already planned for just this line of questioning to come up. At least when the detailed plan was given out to the other leaders of the humans. Lee Adama was good, but Kelly was a lot better at this kind of game than the younger Adama was. His face was like stone, and when he looked at the younger Adama. His eyes were level, but at the same time not threating. He was just going to let this young pup know the facts of life. He might be a Battlestar commander, but he still had a lot to learn about leading people.

"Our people voted to go with you, but that does not mean that they are falling all over themselves to be the first to do it. We have a list of family's that wanted to come up first, but it is a very short list. They are the first ones, and more will jump on the band wagon so to speak shortly. But only when reports come back to them. Ones that say that they will have a home to come up to, in the first place. What we are hoping for, is that the first group will spread the word around. And that along with the anticipation of only needing one move. It will spur motivation to start moving more of my people up here at a faster pace." Kelly let a slight smile cross his lips, which was perfect to the millimeter for what he wanted to convey. He was schooling the younger Adama, but he had no idea if the younger man was picking up on the action.

"We want it spurred. It would be great when we have a line of people demanding to be on the next lift to be taken up to the Find. This will drive the people we need to work, a little harder to be on those fallow on lifts up into space. You do not want to force people to move on your timeline. I know that it will cause some of our people to be more than a little disgruntled about the whole idea leaving this planet." He did not say stay behind with all other possession, and then those items falling into the cylons hands were they were killed. That part was now accepted to be a given, at least by the people in senior leadership positions.

Kelly put his hand flat on the table top. "We could have started sifting the easiest to move armor plant parts up first, when the time is right. But the way we are looking at it, is that the faster we get our plants in the ground. The faster we can be begin producing the slower going food, and replacement seed crops. Even if we move the one of the plants to the Find early? We will not be able to supply it with the raw material, it will need to do its job any way. We will have the armor production plant up here, and the people to run it. But they will not have anything to do, while they wait for everything else they need to support them is being brought up, unpacked and then put into place."

Laura saw a political spat brewing before her eyes. And she quickly came up with a plan to try to stop it, before it grew too deep of roots. "Captain Kelly. We understand, and I agree with you. I thank what the commander of the Pegasus is trying to say, and not doing such a great job of. Is that we can't afford to do only one thing at a time right now. If you can start up production and trading again in the armor plate. Then maybe we in the fleet could supply you with the metals you need for the production, as well as any other support you might end up need to do this production with." Laura shot Bill a look. He returned one, which she could read as agreeing with what she had said. But he did not say a word one way or the other.

Kelly and this other co-leaders had not thought of that particular idea would come up, in this meeting. They had planned on having to have at least one Raptor load of slightly used and already stripped down cylon parts coming up each day to supply the armor production. But only after the plant started working. It the Colonials were going to supply what was needed on their own? Now that was a different ball game. It would fix so issues they had been trying to work through. That one flight would increase the number of items and people coming up.

"If you can do that? We can start bring up the machinery some time by the end of the first week that we start re-occupation of the ship. Please let me check some numbers, before we agree to this whole heartily. I will have to double check that we have the right people ready to go, and that they will have a place to sleep at night after working there asses off." Kelly was surprised at the turn of events. Not after so long of having been dragging most of the Colonials around by the nose to get something done. Now they were ready to move at the run, to get things done. This was a very pleasant turn of events.

Kelly had to pull out his notebook sized computer, and quietly check a few items. The rest of the group had worked together long enough. That they all knew that, if it could be done. Then everyone would do what needed to be done. So they were quite as Kelly looked for the information to give as closely to correct information as he could. When he found what he needed, after a less than a minute, he looked around the table. His face did not give a hint to what he had found. He was playing at the adult table today.

"Okay I can bump one of the production plants forward a good bit, and start bringing up the machines. It should only take two of those large cargo shuttles to bring it up all by its self. And that is for just the one plant. This is in addition to the two lifts that we will need for the first day. The problem will be unloading, moving, then setting up the machines, and all of the final testing that will needed to be done. That will need to be done before production can start. I just cannot give you a solid timeline, on when production would acutely start. After it is all put together again. I will say it should on only take a few weeks. Mrs. Ryan can let you know more, once she thinks it's ready for you to start being in materials for it to work on."

He gave the group a half smile and tapped his little device, which so many Colonials were unnerved by. "I'm glad I checked my notes just now. I have a message that Mr. Lloyd. He has a supply and storage issue, which he asked me to bring up to your attention. With all of the fish possessing we have been doing lately. We have found ourselves in an unexpended bind." This was the reason that it had taken as long as it had to reply to the question. He had read the note and then he had to review the back ground data.

Apollo was new to this style of games being played, so far but he was almost good at it. That is so far, at least. The one thing he was having problems doing, was waiting and biding his time in the long game. He had been a Viper pilot, way too long. That is a breed of people, who were not well known for waiting to long for anything to happen.

"What kind of bind, would that be Captain Kelly?" Another issue that Lee had, was that he did not like using Kelly's rank. He thought that rank only mattered, if they had been in the Colonial military. He had been lucky so far, and only his wife Dee, knew about that issue so far. At least that was what he thought.

Kelly did not smile, and kept his face very still. He made another mental note that the younger Adama was not that good at the political game, yet. No matter what the younger Adama might think, about his skills. Kelly saw the older Adama roll his eyes toward the top of the metal box of a briefing room, out of the corner of one of his sun strained eye. Kelly now had to fight a slight smile, so that the younger Adama would not know he had stepped into something laid out for him. Something, which it seem, that his father had noticed.

"We have possessed a lot of fish, the last few months. This is for both for feeding, of our people, and working most of it up for storage for the upcoming trip through deep space. This has left us with a lot of fish oil, which we have refined into useable glycerin already. That and with some kitchen chemistry, that we know about. We have been making some explosives, and lots of different kinds of soap from the byproducts." Now Kelly had a very sly smile on his face.

"When I'm talking about a lot. I am saying that we have tons of all three items on hand, right now. They are binging stored in different caves around the Settlement right now, but it's something we don't want to leave behind for it to rot in the dark and damp. He was wondering if you all, might have any ideas what to do with it. Because we are almost to the point of not collecting any more oil, and just letting it go to waste being dumped in the ocean as we possess more fish."

"You have got to be fraking with us?" Apollo's jaw was hanging open catching flies, and his eyes were as wide as they physical could be. He had no idea if anyone in the fleet needed raw glycerin, but the other two items. Now those, he knew that they could use. One of the things, he was thinking about on the upcoming trip. That was the shortage of something as simple as soap. It had been a very smelly fleet that had found this system, all those months ago. More so, in some ships than on others. And it had been one of the first black market items that was traded between ships.

A few of Colonials had been able to make a type of lye soap, but it had been spotty in the availability and strength. What Lee had hatted about the homemade soap? It was that it was very strong, and more than one person had come down with chemical burns while using it. That is when the soap had turned out to be too strong for anyone to use. One of the items, which had been traded to the Earthers after normally contact had been made. It was for what the Colonials had called "soft" soap. It was still in a bar form, but it just like soap from back home. The soap that Lee was familiar with was complete, with a nice smell. That smell had provided by some local herb or something that so far none of the Colonials had been able to duplicate.

The other item was also very useful. Apollo had seen some of the Earthers weapons, and had been around a few of the major battle sites to see how divesting they were personally. Even the stuff that they called homemade explosives, was more powerful than the limited supply of military grade blasting blocks. The ones that the Colonials had been able to pick up along the way, or were carried by Beast before the cylon attack. If the Colonials could get more of that? Then that would be amazing turn of events.

Lee had even seen some plans from the Knuckle draggers on his ship, which used the stuff to refitting to Viper and Raptor missiles warheads. He was thinking that this would make the Colonial weapons better, and it was one more thing that they did not have to make or as in the case of the explosive for those weapons. Take it from their shrieking supply of military grade explosives, or make less devastating weapons with their own homemade explosives. Apollo marked that in the win/win category.

Apollo was shaking his head as the thoughts went racing threw his head, and his mouth opened again. He had wanted to use a light tone, it came across a little on the wanting side. "We have a few open weapons magazines on my ship. The explosives would be safe there, and if you have that much extra soap? We could add it to the rations for the fleet, which we give out with our algae vat harvest. It would be nice for everyone to smell a little nicer, before we start the next leg of our travels."

In Lee's head, he was already working on what he could move to give him more room. Now he was glad they had moved those two lift systems out of storage. That would give him even more room to put stuff that was not so explosive, but still needed to be protected from walking way in massive job lots. He had no problem with it being used. It was only when someone make life harder on those who wanted to use something, as benign as cleaning soap.

Kelly nodded his head toward the younger Adama. "I will pass it along. Please contact My Lloyd to arrange the shipments, when you get the opportunity. I know it's a tight fit getting near some of the storage areas, and caves. So you might want just use the Raptors for the transfer the cargo up in more manageable lots. But Captain Adama that is out of my lane."

Kelly was betting that Lee would have been the one to bite at the bait. And he did not ask what the Earthers wanted to trade, for his excess of supply. Kelly shot a look to both Laura and Bill, and they gave a slight movement of their heads. It was to show that they did not have a major issue, with what Lee had just volunteered them to pay for. That is unless, one of Kelly's people tried to take too much of an advantage of the younger man's mistake.

############

Slowly over the next two months. Little fireflies roamed the outer hull of the old battlestar. It was too bad that the cylon Bio repair stuff ran out a few weeks ago. But there had been enough for them to be able to fix all of the major structures on the old warship, and quite a bit more than most people would have believed. It had run out, before they could fix all of the damaged on the head of the massive ship. But they were well into Phase Five of Tyrol's plan, when they had run out of the cylon made item. It had lasted a lot farther, than anyone thought they would have been able to make it last. After that? The repair crews had to go back to the old ways of fixing the damage, but that was a whole order of magnitude easier. Than it would have been, without the cylon goo to do all of the major work before it had run out. What was left to repair, was more in line with what they were trained and equipped to do.

It took time, and more metal to do the work. But the needed items were not as hard to produce, compared to something like Colonial grade armor plate. Because the Colonial's had a pair of manufacturing ships in the fleet, and they were able to make it without to many issues. The Pegasus had to make three more escorting trips out of the hidden system. So that the two mining ships could get the needed ores the fleet was burning threw like a grass fire. This was all to feed the rest of the fleet. This did lead to a delayed somewhat covering the Void storage area. It was not that much of a delay, only a few days, from what Tyrol had hoped to have it done in. That meant that it was about a month ahead of what any sane person would have thought possible.

It turned out to be a good training area, for the space and repair crews from all over the fleet. Chief Tyrol used a 50/50 mixed of trained damage control personnel, and untrained personnel for the work being done in that area. The trained personnel worked and trained the mix of Colonial and Earthers, in the art and skill of repairing battle damage in a death pressure environment. The Human form cylon was a hard task master. But it did take long for the trainees to understand, that he was trying to keep them safe and alive while they learned. Even when they realized that, most Colonials still did not trust him fully.

This was good knowledge, and experience to pass around the fleet. Especially a fleet that was about to spend a long time in deep space. Tyrol was hopping that this training would speed up the completion of inclosing the Void. After all of the other tasks around the space based fleet needed to be done a few extra trained hands per shift would be nice. So far the increase in speed had not happened, but all of the rib extensions had been completed. And all of the other detailed stuff that was needed to be done, was done. As any long term serving military person would have said, it was good training. That means there was lots of cursing, lots of sweating, and lots of yelling that was done while they worked.

As soon as a few armor plates were produced by the Earthers on the Lucky Find. It would be brought out from the ship, and attached to the flagships hull to start covering the Void storage area. They were only putting a single layer of armor skin over that area, for now. The void still was not completely covered, with the single sheets yet. Even after all these weeks of work, both in space and within the earth ship. But the last and the fastest producer of the three armor productions plants had just come on line the day before. It was hoped that after it passed its test. That the rate of armor production would rise again.

All of the cylon salvage from the ground battle had already been used up, before the third armor plant had even been brought up to come one line. And now the whole group, both fleeter and Earther, both were dependent on that was mined from the planet. Or what was escorted in by the Pegasus, and that the Colonial two mining ships could find in the surrounding nebula. It was just the start of intergrading the support systems of both groups, into one supply chain.

While the work was going on the Battlestar hull, primary work was also being done on the Luck Find. Plans to lift the Revenge had been put on hold, and repeatedly delayed for some time. Because of the messaged given to them threw the Oracles, and not just Starbuck and Dexter or Dexter and Laura. The list of people that might have some latent talent, had grown. And the count had been updated every time it happened. So there was no doubt, that the cylons were coming back, and more and more people knew it every week. That did not meant that it was wide spread public knowledge. After each event, they people involved were asked to keep it quiet. Since this scared the frak out everyone. This turned out to be very easy to do.

After much debate, it was decide that they would not lift the warship just yet. From what the Oracles were saying. It was that when the cylons did return next. They would not stay long in this system, and that most of the cylons would not want stick around. It was supposed to be a scout mission made by a single Raider. And then a Basestar would stop by, but was expected to leave again almost as quickly as the first scout had. When the Basestar left? The next visit by the cylons, was when they would have to leave this planet. But that event would not be for months later, after this group had left. They could use those months to finish all the work that needed to be done, before the fleet start the next leg of their travels.

It was when the cylons came back for another look, which the trouble would start to unfold. So the leadership decided that the Neptune's' Revenge, and whoever had not moved to the Lucy Find would stay on the ground. They would defend the Settlement if needs be, from any cylon attack. All of the living areas of the Lucky Find were filled with the people, who would be living there on the trip out of this system. But some of them had volunteered to stay on the ground with Major Weston, and Captain Kelly. This was to make room for all of the Earther non-combatants into the orbiting ship. That and some people just were not made to not be at the pointy end of the stick.

The Great Ship called Lucky Find had been the pride of the Golden Age Weapon Smiths carrying massive loads of weapons that company made or modified. And now it was an Ark for a group of humans. When she had sailed on the trip around the coast that had once been the county called the United States of American. She had been fully loaded, but after coming to this cold planet. It had been the food and other items, in her hull that had helped the people of Rifts Earth survive. And without it, more people from both ships would have died in the time it took to get their feet under them on this new planet. A lot of effort had been made to replace what they had used, and it had been all replaced with items made from local renewable sources by now.

Now the total population of Earthers or those Colonials under their government leaders command, was a little over hundred and fifty more heads. Than they had on board before they had come to this place threw that blue energy wall and that did not count the cylon POW;s. It should have been tighter living conditions on the old ocean going ship, but smarter planning had help make this a little easier to deal with. But in planning to use the Void for bulk items storage, which can handle the stress that area would put on them had helped the most.

This also allowed for the hydroponics department to be greatly expanded. And they even were able to add a twelve foot deep pool. It was to act as a living pond, to grow the plants and animals. It was hopped that this would help with the food situation in the rest of the Colonial fleet. They had no idea if the water storage/pond system would work on the upcoming trip or not. The worst case planning, was that they would have and extra water storage area or water play area. In fact some fresh greens were already starting to flow out of the growing areas, and not only from the modified ship. It was not much, but every pound helped.

This was allowing the older greens being grown dirt side, to be dried and stored from latter use or need. The same thing was happing all across the fleet, as the smaller labs turned out there first fresh food. The only ship that was not actively putting locally grown greens, with it going into the supply network, was the Battlestar Pegasus. The limited scope of free space on the massive warship, had forced her Captain to look at something different to grow. It was to show that the warship was also helping, to feed the rest of the fleet.

They had made and set up small almost window box type of planters had been set up around the ship, and people assigned to look after them. The products from those boxes were not food based plants. But they were growing plants, which were more of the Herbs and medicinal type of plants. They only needed a smaller growing area, but had huge impact versus there small size of productions. They also took longer to grow on average than the more normal food plants. Lee had not been happy when the first time he had walked down a corridor, and found flowers growing in one of those boxes. That had taken more than a bit of explaining by those flowers were important. He had signed up for a class on plants not long afterwards.

Everything else in the fleet has also changed over the last few months. The core belief systems of the Colonials were slowly changing. The story about Rift's Earth was slowly percolating threw out the fleet, at its own pace. The Dragon Plato's recorded images and story about the dangers awaiting them, was one of the most down loaded and watched item in the fleet for weeks on end. Monotheists were now able to openly practice their beliefs, both on planet and in the fleet in ever growing numbers. There had been some issues from some of the more hard core believers in the Lords of Kobal, which had wanted to stop this.

But Laure Roslin had forced a mass vote across the fleet, when the Quorum had not liked her idea of religious freedom. And it did not matter what religion it might be you wanted to fallow. As it turned out, the rest of the fleet's population, or at least over sixty percent of them had agreed with her. And the law was passes, which said freedom of worship could not be limited unless it was a health risk to others in the fleet. She did not want to see someone doing an animal sacrifice before preforming a mass of some kind. There were going to be issues, and there had already been some. But the steadily growing trained police force, had so far been able to keep a lid on it. The Earthers were again showing the way, on how to deal with this issue. The only religious sect that was growing faster than the monotheist with the fleet, were the followers of Neptune and Poseidon.

###########

The military capability of the fleet had been slowly increasing for the first time since the old Battlestar had left the Ragnar Anchorage, or when Mercury class Battlestar found the rag tag fleet in deep space. Every time the Pegasus made and an escort run out system, on her return she would add between four and six new built Viper Mk VII to the whole fleets available order of battle. That along with the recovery of all of the cylon made KEW ammunition from the cylon wrecks. The limited production of the Colonials had almost filled to capacity all of the Viper ammunition bunkers on the two warships. They still had a long way to go on filling the close in weapons bunkers the Battlestars had used up over the years. The massive anti capital ship missile bunkers on those same two warships were filled, and with some real ship killers this time. They even were able to store a few extras missiles that would not fit on different ships as a resupply. None of those stored weapons had nuclear warheads, but they still had functional warheads that were on the large size.

Those were not the only weapons, which had been added to the Colonial Fleet. The production of Colonial built and designed Direct Energy Weapons. They were now called Lasers, due to the influence of the Earthers had started. The Lasers name for the weapons was picked, because the full name or using DEW in normal use? Well that just did not sound as good, when people talked about the weapons both in the mess halls and in the news stories. They were still hand built affairs, but all the parts were now truly interchangeable, with the other laser weapons they were building for the fore seeable future.

These new additional modifications that had been made to the weapons would speed up production, and make it easier to repair the weapons later on. At least, once they had a large enough stuck of spare parts to do any repairs with. The damage output of each double barreled weapon was equal to what a Coalition States C-12 heavy Assault Laser Rifle per energy blast from the massively heavier weapon produced by the Colonial weapon. But the larger weapons would fire six times with each pull of the trigger. The Earthers had been the ones to come up with most of the improvements of the new weapons designed of the beast.

That group of weapons experts from Earth had lots of ideas, but in the end the Colonials had to be able to make whatever the idea was. That took some time, but now that the two gun groups were working close together. It was hopped that more could be done later, as ideas flowed back and forth in both weapons and production technology. As it was? The next time the cylon tangled with the Colonial fleet, there were going to be in for a few surprises. The longer it took the cylons to find them, the more surprise Bill Adama was going to be able to throw at them when that event finally happened.

The plan was that they would field eighty upgraded Vipers, all fitted with the local built Lasers class weapons. So far they had only been able to modify and field ten of the MK-IIb Vipers and five of the MK-VIIb Vipers. All of the b models carried a pulse laser mounted in each wing in place of the old Colonial made KEW. The Vipers were packing two of the twin barreled weapons as there battle weapons. The Admiral had hoped to start replacing the all older Mark II Vipers in combat service before they left. But the Pegasus only had so much manufacturing capability to supply the whole fleet with. Right now they needed to get a full load of Vipers, then they could work on replacing the older Viper space frames.

That limited production capability had been tasked to its maximum output, and it had been split between making the new weapons, and spare parts for the existing fleet of space fighters. The Colonial Fleet could now launch for combat ninety fully serviceable Vipers in total at any one time. This combat force was made up of thirty MKII's and sixty MKVII Vipers, with a growing number of them armed with laser weapons. That number of craft took a lot of spare parts, just to keep flying. That was not counting the ones down for maintenance, after such a long time of hard use. All without enough down time between combat missions to put any parts that might be sitting around on those craft.

The Battlestar Galactic alone, was supposed to field eighty Vipers when she had been in her prime fighting the first cylon war. But with the complete loss of one hangar, she still could now only support fourth Vipers in total, even with her double decker launch rails replaced into her one operational hangar pod. The Mercury Class had been built, and was supposed to support about one hundred and sixty of the fast little fighters. That was according to the specification work sheets published to the average public Consumer.

But the Beast now would be able to only put ninety Vipers into space, but they all were going to be Vipers MKVIIs. It was hopped that this would happen by the time that they were planning on leaving this system, until then the larger battlestar might not have that number ready to fight. The low number of fighter capability, was mainly due to the wartime only upper support racks not being installed on the newer battlestar. They were even not being test installed on the newer warship, when the attack had started. It was some surprise to Bill and Lee that they had never even been test fitted on the ship in the whole five years the ship had been in operation.

This was going to change, as soon as the deck crew of the massive battlestar could figure out both how to make them, and how to install them at the same time. This might have been impossible task but between Bill, Saul, and Galen. They knew all of the part that needed to be made, and how it was supposed to look, and function after the parts were made. It was just going to take time, effort, and the resources to have them made and install them.

The Both Adamas had to come up with a plan on what to do with the limited production capability in the long term. Two items had been keen in their decision on what to do for both the near term, and mid-term support. One was that the Earthers had given a boost, in the total numbers of people volunteering to help. That was versus the numbers of those who were just sleeping, eating, and wanting to die like they had been. They already had over a hundred people that had pass the incredibly tough medical test to be Viper pilots. This was over double what either man had thought would be available for pilots. The class size was still only a dozen warm bodied in size at a time, but they had two classes working at all times. It would only be a matter of time, and the Viper complement on both warships could be up to full supported strength. That did not even count the number of Earthers who wanted to try for a job that let them fly the space fighters.

The weapons that these new Vipers pilots, would have at their fingertips? They would be something that the Leaders of the Colonial Fleet, would have given both of their arms to have seen before. At least back before, this new war had surprised them all, by wiping them out. All while they were sitting dead in space watching the cylons get closer and closer. These new weapons were going to also be a huge surprise to the cylons.

The hundred and sixty KEWs that would be pulled off the current Vipers, were going to go right back into the Fleet's supply chain. That is after they were completely inspected and rebuilt. Some of the civilian ship's Captains had asked for a few of the extra weapons already. The idea, was that these newly found extra weapons could mount some local defense against any possible cylon Raiders that they might run into in the future.

Bill and Lee had not been at first thrilled with this idea. Bill did not want to live hand to mouth again, when weapons were damaged or lost in combat. When he put his fleet commander hat on while talking to Laura one evening, he had changed his mind. He asked for a plan to be developed by the requesting captains. This notice just happened to have crossed paths with a request by the Quorum to have a meeting with him. They had not said what they wanted to have the meeting about, that was rude of them. Laura had found out the why of the meeting, not long after the notice had been given to the Admiral. She was able to let her man know what was going on, about two hours before he had to go to the meeting. A meeting that had turned out to be transmitted to the rest of fleet, live. It was a very well laid political trap, which had been set for the Admiral to fall into.

Bill had walked into the meeting without letting anyone know, that he knew that there was a political ambush waiting for him passed the closed doors to this chamber. He let four of the Quorum political leaders get a full head of steam going about how he was not looking out for the wellbeing of rest of the fleet along with some other odds and ends. All the while, that they were ranting at him. He had just stood there looking at them without any emotions showing on his face. They thought, that they had surprised the military commander. And they were not going to let up on their assaults. It did not take long for each of them to say something that was very dumb in front of those cameras. Just as Bill had wanted them to.

Bill looked at the group of political leaders, and tilted his head to one side. When he had enough to there blustering, and he thought that they had been given enough rope. He started to lower the boom on them. He used his normal, non-command voice when he started addressing the group of "elected" leaders from the fleet.

"What exactly are you upset about. I am the commander of this fleet. That includes both military ships, and the civilian ships that make up this fleet. As you have all have stated a few times, it is my job to look after the defense of the whole fleet. I have a long day ahead of me, and unlike most of you. I have been putting in sixteen hour days for weeks, now. And those hours are not spend sleeping or eating with each other."

This remark stung every remember present from the Quorum today. Mostly because not only were those statements both true, and that it had just been broadcast to the whole fleet live. The meeting had been designed to take down some of the popularity of this man had been gathering in the court of public opinion. But to have him act, like he just had? That was not helping their cause, one little bit. In fact I played into a growing sentiment among their people who were starting to come out of there easily lead phase, into a harder for them to be controlled phase.

The Representative from Tauron was not going to let this slide into an attack on him. He opened his mouth, in full volume. "What we are talking about Admiral." The tone he had used for the last word. Thad turned that powerful title in one of distain. "Is that you are keeping weapons that you have marked as excess weapons. But you are hording them for only the purely military ships under your command."

Bill made his face look very confused, but was careful not to look at the camera mounted along the back wall of the room. "I have no idea what you are talking about. All of the captured weapons that been turned in, have been inspected, repaired and cleaned. We filled the empty weapons lockers on the Battlestars first. After all, that is where most of the people that are trained to use them are located at in the first place. That did take longer than planned, due to the number of weapons captured by us and our allies. As far as I am aware of? Every ship that has a certified weapons locker, has been filled to capacity with the captured weapons. Now we still have quit a few of those weapons still in storage on both Battlestars, if we have missed any of those depleted weapons lockers."

Bill had worked that little speech out with Laura before coming here. And he had made sure to use the word weapons, in pace of where he should have said small arms. He wanted to play word games, after all of those word games had been started by the body. He wanted to show them that he could play this game, if he wanted to.

The Representative from Tauron's eyes went wide, and his face went flush with the blood rushing to it. He had no idea that his image was being focused on, right that second. "We are not talking about those small weapons Admiral, and you know it. We are talking about the dozens and dozens and maybe hundreds of heavy weapons, which you are pulling off of the Vipers. So that you have room for your new toys, that you have been building at the expense of things the good people of our fleet need. Admiral, other ships need those weapons. They are needed to defend themselves from any new attacks!"

Now Bill let his face make a kind of surprised look, but not really. "Sir, I think you are mistaken. I received a request not long ago, from a few of the civilian ship's commander. They were asking about those 30mm KEWs, which I think you are referring to. I sent a request back to those few captains, for a detailed plan on how they planned to use them. I have not received any reply to my information request as of this meeting. I have not been hiding these heavy weapons, they had to be inspected and more than a little effort to have them repaired back to Colonial Navy standards."

Now Bill looked dead into the camera mounted at the end of the room. He was not talking to the Quorum, but to the fleet as a whole. "If any ship's commander would like to join this group? All they need to do is come up, with a plan on how to use those weapons effectively. Someone from my staff will review each request as it comes in. They will rate each idea, and come up a plan for each request. It is not only about weapons. They will have to have some kind of mounts, power, safe ammunition bunker, and a way to feed the weapons, and power them. They also will have to come up with a way to control them, and train their own crews in their proper and safe use. We do not want someone wild firing some like them, and then have a few of those shells impact a nearby ship." Bill stopped talking and made like he was checking his not cards. He doing nothing of the kind. He just wanted to make everyone think for a few seconds and visualize 30mm KEW shells striking a liner or a tanker in the little fleet of ships.

When Bill was ready, and the camera man at the back has started to shift his weight between his feet. Then Bill started talking. "As we replace the older KEW's with the new, local built laser weapons. The plan we are fallowing, is that we are only going to limited release those weapons to the ships commanders. Those who have both asked for the weapons and have meet the minimum fleet standard in their use. Now if you will excuse me. I have work to do; maybe you should find something better to do with your time. Like keep up with what is going on within the fleet!" Not everything that Bill had said was the whole truth. At least, not the whole truth as a written down plan. But those were his current intentions, and that was close enough for government work.

That well planned counter attack by the Admiral had just shut down the planned for hours long attack, that had planned for him. All eyes were locked onto the uniformed back of the now departing Colonial commander. The room was quite as death as the hatched closed behind him. The camera crew made sure to pan across the room to get the varied looks, which the hatch was now drawing. Some had sly smiles, while others wore openly hostile looks. The political polls, taken later that night. All would show that the Colonial Admiral had gotten, a little more popular. After the meeting, than what he had when he walked into that room.

##########

The new long ranged plans, right now had had come out this meeting. Had said that after all of the Vipers had been converted over to the new laser weapons, and both Battlestars again had the full complement of those fighters, that they could support. Than the battlestar's crews would start changing out the hundreds of short ranged defense KEWs on each of the Battlestars, with the upgraded energy weapons. They would have to be modified to fit in their older turrets, and the newer designed turrets on the Pegasus. It would take a very long time to make over few thousand of the laser weapons that job would need. But why waist the older weapons that were going to be withdrawn?

They had no idea how many of the older Colonial KEWs would be available to be transferred to other ships of the fleet, yet. What the two Adamas were really hanging their hopes on, for the future of the fleet defense was what everyone had started calling the MK VIII Viper. That had been the name given the craft, when word got out about the military working on some New Viper plans. This craft would not be just a slightly modified Mark VII, but a complete new Viper. This was the project, which Bill was thinking was the key for any future battles against the cylons would be won with. That is it they could get it off the ground. It seemed like every day, something new would need to be changed on the design.

The MK VIII Viper was a true mix of Earther and Colonial technology all into one complete weapon's system. It was not as radical as most wanted to try, but it would be something the Fleet could start building soon, even with their limited production capability. As a matter of fact the first ten MK VIII would be just rebuilt MK VII Viper frames, which were flying now to act as test articles. All most all of the internals would be the same, but the skin would be made of Earther supplied armor. And there was a one meter plug added between the nose and the cockpit to given them a little more internal volume. This would hold more fuel and give the design room to grow in the future.

The Earthers were even using an older MK VII, which they had traded to them to push this along. They were the ones developing the armored skin molds and mounting jigs that were needed so badly for the task. That way all that the Colonials would only have to do, was match the numbers and attached the now one inch thick covering armor to the Viper's frame in the right order. This simple addition, would make each of the so called Viper MK VIIIs, four times as tough as any cylon Heavy Raider built so far. The next time a Raider of any type, thought it had a good kill shot on a Viper. It was going to be in for a very rude surprise when the KEWs or missiles hit the human craft. One that Bill was hopping that it would not live long enough to repeat.

It had been decided that a fake weapons mount would be maintained mounted high on the top tailfin, were the third KEW would have went on an unmodified Mark VII. The mass saved by the absent 30mm cannon and its ammunition? Just transformed this version of the Vipers, which was markedly faster than its parent design had ever been. At a later time, they might take that freed up mass, and used it to add something else. Maybe something like the cylon Raider sized jump drive, which they were working on making from scratch with human made parts.

Or they could add the mass simply into a thicker skin, to make the craft even harder to kill. This was on the wish list, which was already almost as long as Bill Adama's arm. All of those items had been put together by the surviving combat veteran Viper pilots from both ships. It all would depend on what type of enemies they found along the way. After finding these Earthers? The one thing that more and more of the people in the fleet was thinking? It was that they might not be the only sentient creature in the universe. And thicker armor would give there pilots a higher survival rate. It was not like this group of humans could grow that quickly, with such a low starting number to build from. Bill wanted to keep his options open for the time being. He was hoping in a dark part of his brain. That maybe a new weapon or something other battle modifier would pop up out of the blue. Then all they would have to do was fit the new idea into the space and mass they had left open.

The defense of the fleet had already added, the now fully functional space based weapons from the Lucky Find herself. When you think about it the six twin Auto cannons, and two medium class missiles turrets? You might think that this did not seem like much additional firepower to the overall fleet. The twin auto cannons were the basically the same level of technology, as the KEW's of the Colonial manufacturing. But the shells they fired did both hit harder per shell, and they had longer range than the missing short ranged defense weapons in that area. Those weapons, which were now missing, because of the Hangar pod had been blasted off the old Battlestar. Bill was just happy to have some weapons turrets there, ones that he did not have to strip from someplace else on his ship.

The Lucky Find's medium missile launchers might only be able to shoot ten missiles each, in any given salvo of launches. But each of those missiles, were a danger to even one of the capital sized Basestar that might come into range of the little beasts. What only the command staff, and a few others knew about? That was that one of the cylon orbital bombs had already been successfully taken apart by Chief Tyrol, Athena and a few others, while it had been inside the Earther built and controlled ships. Athena had brought up how it was less likely that anyone would talk to the press or someone linked to them, if they saw something odd. That would not be the case, if they broke open the cylon missile in Chief workshop on the flagship.

The eighteen nuclear warheads, complete with their built in short range missile bodies or booster bodies, had been removed from the parent weapon. A couple had even been mated to Earther made medium class missiles. Five of these modified missiles were in each of the two launchers of the ship at all times. These warheads were both heavier, and longer than the standard missile warheads that should be carried in those turrets.

These now longer, and longer ranged two staged, better guided weapons, were now hand loaded into the weapons firing turret. To replace them, if they were fired? The crews would have to do some more hand loading. It was expected that after those nuclear missiles were launched. Standard medium class weapons would be launched in defense of the fleet. If they lived, after a battle that needed to use ten of the weapons? They could hand reload the five replacements weapons as soon as the battle was over. So far no one had noticed the longer missiles sticking out of the front of the two missile launchers mounted on the hull of the Lucky Find.

Even very few Rift Earth born people knew about those modified weapons. The parent weapon system had a strong stigma around them. And the public at large might cause some issues, if the information leaked out over a few to many beers. Everyone wanted the weapons when they were under attack, but a vocal few would do their best to have them removed if they could. When you throw in, that they were part of a cylon made weapons? It would only add more fuel to the public relation fire, which was sure to start.

It would have been like issuing Japanese or German jet fighter planes to the USAF, right after World War 2 had ended. Or giving a US soldiers a Lugar sidearm as an issued weapon not long after that same war had ended. Or they could have issued German made chemical weapons to British artillery units, after the war. It just was not done, the press would have had a field day with that kind of news story. The last three of the recovered warheads had been turned over to the Colonial fleet, and stored in a proper magazine. The other four full functional orbital bombardment weapons were split up between the two Battlestars. The only people who knew were those missiles, and warheads location, were the Adama's and maybe Laure Roslin. If ten more people in the whole fleet knew all of the details about this? That would be a shock to them.

The other nuclear weapons situation had also got better, because of another development that was focused on what the humans were doing. If the cylons found the Colonial Fleet again? The cylons would know within the first few missiles exchanged with the Colonials. That the humans were bringing out the big guns to play from now on. The humans were tired of coming in second place on the exchange of firepower, and now they did not have to be.

The Earthers and the few Colonials, who wanted to help, had been pulling ton after ton of Oralloy ores out of the ocean depths at an amazing rate. Then they had packaged it up and shipping it up, and out of the gravity well almost as fast as the cargo ships could lift it. So much of the ore had been pulled out already. That the Settlement had wanted to go down to only having to use one shift, doing all of the mining. It was hopped that this would free up some of the highly trained manpower for other needed tasks, which still needed some extra manpower to finish.

The Admiral had asked, that they not do that. He told them that he wanted enough material, that they could make every missile type weapon in the whole fleet a Basestar killing warhead. He told them that he would store the ore the outside of his hull, if he had to. The leadership of the Settlement had kept mining it, and storing it in one of the caves. At least until it could be lift up out of the planets gravity well. Right now the wait was for whenever the refining ship, had room for the ores. Then a load would of radioactive raw ore would be sent up. Both group of leaders would make sure to take it all, when they finally left this cold world behind.

The refining ship was turning out ship killing warhead, after ship killing warhead. After the first ten weapons had been completed and they were working on more of them. As agreed, the number ten warheads was not transferred into the heavy weapons bunker on one of the Battlestars. It was instead sent to the Flagship of the fleet. Were it was transferred in the middle of the third shift down to the Earther warship. There had not been any fanfare, but Kelly and the other two leaders had smiles on their faces when the weapons locker was sealed up. Having a nice, new, one hundred and fifty kiloton weapon was not something you received every day. This Colonial made weapon was setting right besides, the Earth made weapons, and the cylon made weapons.

They were almost half way through the second run of ten nuclear weapons, when Laura made another deal with the Triumvirate. As long as they kept producing the needed ores? They would have every tenth warhead the Colonials made from those ores for free. Those three Earth born men were not going to turn down access to a few more nuclear weapons. Not with the cylons still being around. And everyone knew that they like used weapons of that type, with little care about things like surrender or collateral damage.

The Colonial weapons were a lot larger than the cylon ones, which had been modified for the earth made medium class missiles. The Colonial made and designed weapons were meant to be fitted on the larger silo launched missiles the Colonial navy preferred for this counter Basestar weapon. Still to get them to fit on the Earth made long ranged weapons. The smaller explosive warhead the weapons normally carried had to removed, and a more bulbous nose and aerodynamic mid-section add to the long weapons. All before the weapons were useable by the people from Earth.

The larger weapon now could not be auto loaded, just like the modified medium ranged weapons, they had to be hand loaded into the launcher on Revenge. This was okay for Captain Kelly, as long has he had weapons on that scale to be able to use in time of conflict. Besides the now odd shaped weapons modifications would not affect the weapon that much, if it was launched in space. And as the old saying went, and Kelly and Bill had agreed on, as long it was dealing with inside a planet's atmosphere. "Close counts, when you are looking at using a few nuclear weapons".

The Earthers military might, was separate origination than the Colonials Navy. But it worked closely with the Colonials, and Major Weston was using the move of his people to their advantage. One of the major areas of warfare, that Bill Adama was missing in his combat capacities, were in the land combat areas of warfare. All most all of the Colonial Fleet Marines had been planet side, when the cylons had paid them a nuclear visit. Even the Battlestar Pegasus was short on personnel with that kind of specialized training. Marines were used in a lot of different jobs, which had fallen to others to do while they were fleeing the cylons or it just did not get done at all.

Whenever help was needed by the Colonials. Major Weston would only have to ask for someone to volunteer for the task that they needed help with. That gave the Earthers confidence in their equipment, and themselves. All while they were working outside a planet's atmosphere, with nearby Colonials in support.

They also were working on their own projects, just in case or more than likely, when the two groups separated from each other sometime down the road. They now had two Vipers and two Raptors that they manned, crewed, and were total supported by the Earthers treasury to keep in operations. The Colonials, and growing number of cylons, that had joined there ranks. All were helping, and also learning from the Earthers at the same time. The two Vipers that the Earthers owned, were a single a MK II and the other one was a newer Viper MK VII. Well that is what they looked like from the outside, to even the experienced Colonial or cylon eyes.

Then again, looks could be very deceiving. All you had to do was ask any human form cylon and they would agree to that statement. The pair of Vipers had been complete rebuilt by the loyal Earther crews, with a few more bells and whistles added that even the Colonials did not know anything about yet. Both of the life support systems had been complete replace, by a spare earth made life support system. Which had been originally designed for a Northern Gun Sampson combat suit.

They only had about fifteen more spare life support systems in storage, which would fit in the Vipers limited available space. That meant that this modification was not going to be something, which Kelly or Weston could mass produce for the time being. The now freed up space, made by putting in the smaller life support systems, were used in other ways. They had filled part of it with a small spare nuclear power supply system, which had been in storage until needed.

The power from this power supply, was being sent to wing mounted GP-03 Particle Beam Cannons. The Mark VII had only three of these weapons fix mounted, and all firing forward. But the older Mark II had "only" two of these cannons mounted to her old frame. To help hide them from view, a thin metal sleeve had been added over the weapons barrels. With some artistic flare, now they looked exactly like Colonial KEW's, which they had replaced. Even from only ten feet away, they looked like just any other old Mk VII or Mk II Vipers waiting to go to war. It had taken a lot of trial and error to achieve that look. It had not come naturally or cheaply to get the affect done correctly.

With the dedicated power supply carried by the craft. One that was design to also provide busted motive power, to jump about 500 pounds of suit and person along with it. All while firing the built-in in weapons of the suit, let a lot of power capably untouched. To use this extra power, the heavy hitting weapons were rigged, so that they fire in three bolts in burst mode from each weapon as the trigger was pulled. Even the Famed Glitterboy suit, would feel like it had been kicked in the ass. If it was hit with one of these weapons burst. Much less having two or three weapons hitting it at the same time, and maybe close together on the single target. It was going to wear the weapons out faster, but those parts were easy to replace, and the Colonials were almost ready to make them.

The skin of the Vipers had been replaced by the same armor plate, which was coming out of the hull of the Luck Find and going to plate over the Void storage area. It was not the best armor that could be made by the armor plate machines. But it was one that was good enough, and took less materials to make, and could be made faster. At least compared to the very hard to make plates that were "normally" used to repair the Earth built warmachines. Plus when you add, that it was right at hand to work with. It was a simple choice to make on what the new skin of the Viper was going to be. Later they could always upgrade them to a better armor skin.

The Earthers had simply removed one outer skin panel at a time, from one of the Vipers. From this panel, they made template out of some very hard wood. Then all they had to do was cut the armor to match the wooden template. The hardest parts had been to bend the plates, and to cut it completely with marks to say were the attachment points should be. Each one had to be cut in the plate, by hand of a very skilled person.

After spending some time to make sure it was done correctly, then they would attach it to the frame of the space fighter. As it turned out the hardest and most time consuming part of the task, had been improving the attaching hardware to meet Earther standers for strength. They had do all of this, without the Colonials figuring out what was going on, just yet. They were not keeping it a deep dark secret, Kelly and Weston just did not want too many people knowing what they were doing on there off time. The last thing they wanted to do was have another task added to the list of things that had to be done.

The final step was painting the new armor skin part, which had been added. There were many ideas on how to paint the craft, but Major Weston had put his foot down. The craft would be painted to match the other Colonial craft she would flying with, for now. The work was not done all at once, and most of the time the two Vipers were out flying with a patchwork of armor covering the fighters. The only ones that would have notice the change in the craft? They were the more experienced ground crews, maintenance staff, and the pilots that tended to spend way too much time with these types of space craft.

All of the wooden templates had been kept in an out of the way place, after they had been used. Captain Kelly had ordered, that they would be put in a now empty and useless liquid fuel tank for the great ship. The idea had been as a just in case, that the Colonials wanted to upgrade the armor on the other Vipers. They had been proven right, with the plans for modifications to a Viper b had became public knowledge. And the one that was now called the MK VIII. Now this had become a huge time saver, in helping upgrade the Colonial Small Craft fleet. All of the templates were not done, when the plans had been released, but they were down to the last few that needed to be done for both types of Vipers.

The last addition to the Earther controlled Colonial made small ships, had been the addition of a Naruni made small class defensive shield system. These devices were also very limited in supply for the Earthers to use. More to the point was that no one, be they Earther or Colonial. Knew how they worked, much less how to make more of the alien designed devices. No one knew if even taking one apart, would not somehow make it so that it would not work again. That had been the rumor, back on Earth, for a number of years now. That and if you took one apart? They would not work again, or at worst. They would blow up in your face when you put power back to the devices. It was not worth the chance of losing one of the few shield systems, to prove or disprove the one of those theories.

Work was also planned for modifying the two Raptors under Earther control. But they had not even started to upgrade the armor yet, but plans were being made. At least there were some plans put on paper, and in a computer somewhere. It was a case of too many projects needing to be done, and not enough trained people to do them all. That did not mean that the insides of these two craft were not getting some love from their ground crews and other supporting staff.

Even the Viper project had been done mostly on peoples off work shift time, for over half the time the projects had taken to get finished. It was only when the Triumvirate had found out about Viper project, by an offhand remark. It had been while one of the three leaders had been checking out the expensive machines with their own eyes. After a few more meetings, it was decided that more workers and materials would be pointed towards the modified Viper projects.

Helo and Athena were mainly working up training material to teach Earthers, about how to operate, both the Vipers and Raptors. That is, when they were not pulling CAP with the rest of the Fleets combat craft. The Colonials were too short on Vipers and Raptors, to leave a pair serviceable craft out of operation for too long of a stretch of time. This meant that they could only help out via messages, and maybe a few quick swing by to help out for a couple of hours. Some of the first Earthers were just started going through the Colonial Viper training program with the Colonials. But it was always good to have a backup plan…just in case.

##############

Now the fleet in orbit was moving. The ships were not using their main intersystem engines. They were just slowly shifting location, at what was for them a very slow and deliberate pace. Before this, if you had looked at the ships? It would seem like some kid had thrown a hand full of glass sand in the air. Then it was froze in place, with each gain of sand being a Colonial crewed ship back lit by the nebula. It was very beautiful, to see with the naked eye.

It did not take long, before it was noticeable that there was a slowly developing some symmetry to the grains of sand in the night sky. It was a fragile looking formation, and it was one that they had not used in a few years. The Fleet was getting ready to jump before the cylons returned to this system. The more massive and newer Battlestar Pegasus, was in the lead of this fleet. The older and less powerful Battlestar Galactica at the rear of rag tag fleets formation. All of the Colonial civilian crewed ships would be in between the two escorting warships. They were not ready yet, this was just the starting moves. The ships and crews needed to have a little more practice, before the deadline was reached.


	9. Chapter 9 the visitor

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 9 The Visitor**

New Caprica, 948 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 3 years 11 month AT

Two Days before the foretold return of the Cylons using a scout Raider.

The sight of a triple line of spaceships slowly moving through empty space would have looked impressive to most people. That is, if one did not know that this was all that was left of a space faring civilization that had numbered in the billions of people only a couple of years ago. Ones that had lived on over twelve different planets, and that had made thousands and thousands of faster than light ships of all sizes and shapes. This little tidbit made the parade of eighty-six civilian and their two escorting warships seem less impressive to those people who knew about that past.

The little fleet of metal ships was surrounded by a thin cloud of firefly like objects fluttering here and there among the dusting of larger ships. Slowly the number of fireflies in the sky stated to dwindle as they started moving towards each end of the little fleet of space ships. Until there was only one of the small fireflies left, but it had not been flying around the fleet like the rest of the horde. It was coming up from the cloud covered cold planet that the other ships had been orbiting around. The little firefly fired its two high mounted engines, emitting a twin set of bright long lines of flames streaking out behind it, as it angled for the older, battle worn battlestar at the back of the fleet of ships.

Inside the old warship, people were quickly moving around. But they were not running around, or showing any other signs of distress. The movement would have been called 'moving with a purpose,' and was just short of a fast walk. This was the first time that all of the ships of the fleet would be moving together again in almost two years. It had not been easy, and a lot of fuel had been used to both fix all of the ships, and also train or in a few cases retrain their crews.

Adama and Tigh were both watching the movement with critical eyes on the many screens displaying data in the flagship's CIC. It was a dance. And their eyes would be drawn automatically to anyone who was not in perfect step with the dance they were supposed to be doing at the time they were supposed to be doing it. That said, the pair of officers would only correct something on the spot if it was bad enough and someone's life was endangered by whoever had made the mistep.

After the dance was over, Saul would still drop a large hammer on them, but he would wait until they did the after action review. The pair of officers on the Flagship had learned long ago that if it was something small, it would be better to let the person learn about the problem the hard way and then maybe fix it themselves. If that did not work, then the pair of them could address it quietly as a learning point when they had time, each through their own methods of course.

So far they had only accumulated two notes to bring up with the offending crewmen. So far. But the day was still very young, and they knew that they would have more to take note of for reviewing later. It was just going to be a matter of when and not if someone made a major mistake.

Saul leaned forward over the command table in the center of the CIC so that his voice would not carry that far. He was not looking at his boss, his eyes were still taking in the updated data being shown on the different screens. "Seems like all of those frakking Fleet-Exes we used to have to do, doesn't it?"

The Colonial Fleet had run exercises ranging from small ones involving a pair of ships, going all the way up to the yearly main event pitting multiple Battlestar Groups against each other. The winning fleet would have bragging rights and the losing group's commander would have to buy the winner a bottle of ambrosia costing the equivalent of three months' pay for the losing commander. It was a highly competitive event.

Adama was about to say something with a sly grin on his face. He had been thinking along the same lines as his XO had been, but Saul had beaten him to the punch. Rather than speak, his attention was drawn to the station in charge of the Raptor operations in the whole star system and the person who had spoken up in a voice that was just a little on the loud side for today.

"Sir, Message coming in from Raptor 357."

Again Saul responded before Adama could. "Well are you going to tell us? Or are you going to make us wait all frakking day?" Bellowed the XO at a volume that made any ears nearby hurt.

Saul had been getting more and more short tempered these last few days. Bill knew it was not from the Ambrosia this time. He knew the XO had officially given it up. Right after getting out of his cell. Bill had no idea if it was the Cylon part of his brain or the human part that had decided that change of behavior. Not that he really cared one way or the other.

 _"Maybe once through the DT's was enough, even for that hardheaded frakker,"_ thought Bill. It was the stress of waiting for the civilian ships to finish refreshing and fixing all of their issues that had been driving the XO's temper issues. Add to that the countdown to the Cylons' expected return into this hidden system and Bill was also feeling the building pressure on himself and the rest of his crew. He was ranking the last few days' stress levels right up there with when they had to jump every thirty-three minutes. It was amazing how quickly you fell out of being used to working without the stress of dying driving every one of your heart beats.

Adama made a mental note to check on Ellen Tigh again. If things went as hoped for, and planned for, in the next few weeks he might have some free time. Last he had heard was that she was still denying that she was a Cylon. She also was being very vocal that this was all some kind of mistake, or maybe an evil trick being played on her. She would not even let the Earthers remove the memory blocks so that she could tell for herself. She said that they were frakking up people's minds, and she would not let them touch her while she was still breathing.

As long as she refused medical attention, the Earthers would not force her to undergo the non-invasive procedure. It was one of their founding laws, and could not be broken unless under very special circumstances. This lack of change in her attitude was also starting to wear on her husband, but he was trying not to let it show. Not even to his old friend Bill Adama. Bill was doing all he could, but there was only so much he could do. He had limits, both as a friend and as a commander.

The crewman at the flagship's Raptor control station turned red at the rebuke from the old Battlestar's XO. "Sir, the Raptor reports that The Settlement has gone dark. They ran three sweeps of the area with a sixty-five click wide buffer as directed, but they report that they're not getting any returns on their systems that might hint at human habitation anywhere on the planet's surface. All they got back reading-wise from The Settlement's area was a few inert mounds. That's besides the clearing around the village that they had cut out for that kill zone outside of their outer wall. The Raptor will be landing in fifteen minutes at current rate of approach." The voice got calmer as it got close to the end of the report he had been ordered to give.

"Frak, those guys are good at hiding when they want to." Saul was still having a hard time believing that The Settlement was that good at hiding when they wanted to. Even if someone knew where to look, they could not be found. Maybe if they had made extra flyovers when they first got here it would not have been as much help as he had previously thought.

Adama gave his friend a small smile, and slapped him lightly on the upper arm across the light table from him. "Yes they are. I just hope that it's good enough to last. At least until the Cylons jump out again." He did not need to add the last thoughts to cross his mind. _"Or we are all up frak creek without a paddle."_

Adama looked at the countdown clocks spread out in different locations around the CIC. One had the time until the jump, and another one was counting down with different numbers. That one noted the estimated time until the Cylon Raider was expected to show up in system. It said that it was now exactly two days until the Cylon scout was due. Every ship should be out of this system or hiding by that time. The ones that could would all be in a bit of empty space that was away from everything in about thirty minutes.

"I just hope that I'm not leaving them to die alone, under the Cylon's boot." The older Adama did not know that he had spoken aloud just then. But more than one set of eyes snapped in his direction at the offhand comment. It was the first sign that the Admiral did not fully believe in the plan that he and the Earthers had pitched to what was left of Colonies' total population. A battlestar commander was allowed to have a few doubts, but it was best to keep most of them away from your staff's hearing. It only added to their own stress and worries.

* * *

On the cold planet below, in the area of the gray watered bay that was called The Settlement by the humans and captured Cylons alike, nerves were tight for everyone who had stayed behind as the ships overhead moved around the local space getting ready to leave this star system. Every weapon system on the Neptune's Revenge was tracking the retreating Colonial Raptor on passive systems.

The pilot had reported that it was not detecting anything after it made its last run over the hidden village while they had tracked it with their weapons. There were over a thousand people who would remain in The Settlement when the last Colonial ship was gone from the skies. Each of them was as heavily armed and armored as they could be. Captain Kelly had no doubt that the Cylons would not like the party if they stopped by unannounced in this part of the planet. The only thing the people staying behind would not be able to handle was if the Basestar moved over them in low orbit and rained missiles and nuclear warheads on them from that height.

Kelly was looking out the heavy windows that were fixed to the front of his bridge. The camouflage had been re-rigged to cover the ship better. Now that they only had one ship to cover instead of two, they were able to set it to both better cover the ship and allow for the use of its weapons and electronics unhindered. He used his electronic field glasses to scan the local area in his field of view from his favorite location within the brains of his ship. He was in the middle of his sixth sweep when a member of his Bridge sang out with an update.

"Sir, the Raptor has left the tracking screens. All screens are showing free of any targets. We are not picking up anything on any of the passive systems. The landline is still working, and they made the last check-in on time with nothing to report." The voice was a bit strained, but not scared, as the operator told the whole room that they now seemed to be very alone.

Kelly did not drop his field glasses at the report being given to the command center. This had all been planned for, so he just gave the next order off his mental list. He even made sure to use as even a tone as he could when he spoke.

"Shut down, and lock all active systems. We are now under full EmCon until further notice. No need to chance the Cylons picking up the emissions if they show up early. Sound the horn, if you please."

Outside of the modified warship, fixed to the thick upper mast, an off blue device was given power to operate. The ship's massive fog horn sounded five loud but short blasts of sound that made the bridge crews' teeth vibrate in their jaws. It was the signal that an attack was imminent, and that everyone should go to passive only mode for all electronic systems they might have access to. They were also to restrict any movement of heavy combat equipment until further notice.

They were to stay that way from now until the all clear was sounded. The only people moving outside after the last blast of sound would be without any energy weapons, and not wearing any powered armor. Everyone that was inside of a building would be in full armor, and ready to activate their weapons of war as fast as they could. The whole population of the village could be ready to fight in less than five minutes of any combat sounds reaching their ears. It was going to be a long wait, and every person hoped that at the end of it, the Cylons would just leave unaware that humans were still on this hidden planet.

 _"What If things went sideways on them,"_ was a question that was going through a growing number of minds. If something like that happened, they all knew that a lot of people were going to die. Not just the people on this planet, but others also. The rest of the fleet would have to flee the local area before they had completed certain tasks. That was a long list of things that still needed to be done, before they could be on their way to find the planet that the Colonials called Earth. Every item that was not done would increase the risk of the next leg of their trip not working out.

From the communication station, the operator almost shouted. This was one of the areas on the ship that had been modified not long ago. Not only did it have a land line, data access, and radio transmitter and receiver, but now it also incorporated a long range Colonial made transmitter and receiver.

"Sir, text message from Galactica Actual."

There were three ways to handle this type of message, and Kelly did not know which one fit best for what might be in that message. As the Captain he could come over and read the message over the operator's shoulder. He could also have them send the message to the portable thin computer the Captain used for private communications. Or he could read it out loud so that the whole bridge crew and soon the whole ship would know what had been sent to him.

Kelly put down his field glasses, but only looked at the communication station out of the corner of his eye. He decided that he now knew which way was the best for the ship. Besides, he already had an idea of what that message might hold anyway.

"Please read it out, if you please." He still did not turn in that direction. He was the picture of nonchalance, or maybe he just was very relaxed at the situation going on around him.

The communication tech was a little stunned at the request, but quickly went back to the training that the ship's XO had drilled into his head hour after hour. He used his full voice, so that it carried clearly around the room.

"It says 'To Neptune's Revenge Actual, from Galactica Actual. Good luck, Gods be with you. We will have a Raptor on site seven days from now. Call if you need us. Messages ends.' Sir." The technician's voice had been loud and clear, and did not break or screech.

Kelly nodded as the message was read out loud to the command group. It was almost word for word what he thought the Admiral would send to him and his people that were staying behind. "Send a message back. Thank you. We hope not to need it, but keep our people safe out there. We will see you, when we see you. From Revenge Actual."

Kelly now turned to look around the bridge of his ship. He had had to fight with his other two co-leaders for this mission. In the end, he won because it was his ship that was still on the surface. Most of their people were already in orbit, and they could not afford to lose two or even all three of them all in one act of stupidity.

"Message sent, Sir," came back to the captain a few quiet seconds later. Not long after, the phone rang next to Captain Kelly's chair. There were only a few landlines on this mud ball, so Kelly had a good idea who it might be on the other end of the device. If they were not on a short list of people, the primitive switch board would have pushed it to the communication station and his phone would not have rung in the first place.

"Revenge here." Was all the Captain said when he put the horn shaped phone receiver to one of his ears. He had given up saying the full name of his ship not long after they had found themselves on this planet. It was too much of a pain to keep doing it. Besides, he felt like it was just a waste of air and lung power.

The voice was old but strong, and it was who he thought it might be on the other end. "Kelly, it's June Stapp. The Colonials have started jumping away from our system. Do you want us to let you know when they're all gone?" The voice did not have much emotion in it. She was too much of a professional for something like that to happen. But at least it was not her husband who was calling him. Even after all of these years, Kelly, and most other humans for that matter, did not get along with June Stapp's husband. At least not for longer than a few days at a time.

"Yes, June, please, and thank you. I was briefed that all ships will be jumping in a about a ninety second interval. Please promise me one thing. That you will be careful when you're out by your telescope, 'til this all comes to a conclusion. You and your husband are too important to risk doing something dumb, and losing both of your skills. Please don't tell him that, you know I would never live it down." Kelly was smiling. He might not get along with her husband, but June Stapp was easy to like. That is after you understood her rules, and did not say anything bad about her husband within earshot of her.

* * *

The Settlement settled in for the silent siege that everyone hoped would be very quiet. Nothing can quite break the silence like missile or cannon fire can and everybody hoped they would have none of either.

The old warhorse named Galactica was the last human ship to leave the system. But before it activated its jump drive today, a tightbeam and low powered transmission was sent to an empty part of the star system.

All of the human crewed ships might be leaving, but they were not going to leave the system completely empty of any human made spacecraft. The need, or at least the desire, to know what happened after the fleet left was too strong. So something had been quickly whipped up to fulfill this need in one of the three operational hangar pods in the fleet.

A little scout craft was left behind, out where no one should be looking for anything. It was a Raptor with a jump drive that had failed the last inspection, and had thus been grounded for most other mission profiles. At least until a new jump engine could be fixed up to replace the bad one. The craft had been quickly rigged up to run only its passive systems, its power supplied by the Raptor's auxiliary power units.

The Raptor had been set at almost the minimum power setting it could be set at and still work. It would record everything that happened in the system while the rest of the fleet went to the hiding spot to wait for the Cylons to leave again. Something this risky would have sent the Colonial Quorum off the deep end. That is, if they had known about it in the first place.

The unmanned craft would float and record whatever its systems could pick up out of the back ground noise. Two other modifications had been done to the little craft on very short notice. First was a massive increase in the data storage compared to what the spacecraft normally had. This would allow the sensors a larger capacity to store the recorded information in without periodically overwriting anything. The second item that was added was a powerful self-destruct device. If anyone, human or Cylon, tried to enter the craft the wrong way, it would set off a nice large charge made up of almost fourteen thousand kilos of Earther provided high explosives. It was judged that this amount was enough to ruin someone's day quite nicely.

The only way to deactivate the device was by using an Earther made radio. One that would transmit a certain coded signal on just a single frequency. If it was the wrong code, or on the wrong frequency, the explosive would be triggered, and the fifty ton craft would disappear in a single flash of light and energy. The idea was to leave nothing for the Cylons to be able to work with if the package went into unfriendly mode. The odds of the Cylons being able to find a working Earther radio transmitter, and it being on the right frequency was incalculable.

The transmission from the battlestar was to the little craft, so that it would activate its passive scanners. It would start recording everything at this command, as well as arm the anti-tamper devices located all around the oddly shaped small craft. When the little craft sent a reply that it was working, and had no issue to report to its parent craft, the battlestar jumped away in a brief flash of light. That flash of light was the only other sign, that she was on her way to rejoin the rest of the fleet. She would stay there until the threat to this system was gone.

* * *

New Caprica, 950 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 3 years 11 month AT

Deep in the cold of space, out where the star at the center of the solar system would have looked like just another star, a brief and slight flash of light happened. It had been so fast and so slight that even to anyone looking at it, if they blinked at the wrong time, they would still have missed the event altogether.

The Raider that went only by the number 874 had entered the system it had been ordered to scout. This had to be done before the larger Basestar entered this hard to find system that held the last humans that the Cylons knew about. The Raiders were only a little better than dog smart, and this was the Raider most skilled in killing Vipers that the parent ship had on this mission. It had already been through four different Raider hulls, accumulating the skills to get that long list of Viper kills, before being sent on this mission. However it was not the most skilled in tasks that pertained to scouting the frak end of nowhere. Nevertheless it had been the one that the Cylon Hybrid had ordered to perform this mission. But only after the Hybrid had been told that this mission needed to be done by one of the human forms. She had not been that happy with the orders either.

Raider 874 was one of the oldest of the current generation Cylon Raiders that was still around and still considered to be fully operational. It had seen more than its share of combat since it was first launched. Its first mission had been helping to stop a stealth craft launched by the Colonials from a small battlestar named Valkyrie years ago.

That intruder could not be allowed to continue scouting that area of Cylon space. 874 had been one of the many Cylon fighters to find, and then cause the destruction of that intruding Colonial made craft. It had spent the intervening years before the renewed war with the humans destroying human pirates all along the edges of Cylon space. Those pirates often tried to use Cylon space as a safe haven to hide from Colonial Fleet elements looking for them. Using this tactic had not worked for any of those pirate bands very well.

When the big war had kicked off, it had been at the forefront of all of the action. When it had been first launched, it had been loaded with as many anti-ship missiles as it could carry, but those were not the only weapons it had carried into war. It had also been loaded with a nice little software package that it was instructed to transmit before each combat action against the humans. With these two weapons, it had blasted Colonial ship after Colonial ship, as the backdoor shut down the ships' defenses from a range that kept it safe from any return fire. It had no feelings one way or the other as the humans died under its weapons fire of missiles and cannon. It was just doing the job that it had been both built for and programmed to do, after all. It had not cared about right or wrong, only the mission to kill what it had been told to kill.

Some of that changed without any warning. At one point it had a mission area that had a Colonial Heavy transport in it. This one was carrying someone low to mid-level from the Colonial government's extended chain of leadership. It and its wingmen had found the starship without any issues, almost exactly where they were told to look in the first place. The liner was still following the filed flight plan that the Cylons had obtained a copy of through one of the infiltration units. It should have been as easy as it had done dozens of times already.

It was closing on the unarmed craft from behind just like it had done twenty or maybe thirty times so far in this new war when something happened. One second, the Raider was closing on the defenseless civilian ship. The next, it was hit with a massive energy wave of something powerful detonating at a close range to its hard matte chrome hull. It was like someone had detonated a large nuclear warhead, almost directly under its nose.

The next memory the Raider had was being downloaded into a new Raider body at a Resurrection ship some distance away from where it had just died. It was not told anything about how it died. Only that the mission had not been done, and the human forms were not happy with it. It still to this day had no idea what had killed it for the first time. But it had not been a nuclear weapon, as first thought. It had only been lucky to get a new body because some of the human form Cylons had planned on taking some losses during this first stage of combat with the humans.

Even with the element of surprise on their side, they had made sure to have a few extra combat bodies ready for use just in case. What had not been great for Raider 874 was that it had next been sent in with a section of the fleet to the edge of Colonial space. They were to check out the Ragnar Anchorage and destroy any human ships that might be in the area as their next assignment.

It should have been an easy mission. After all it was just one museum battlestar and some civilian ships with limited armament at most. All they had to do was sit outside the only way in or out of the anchorage and wait for the human ships to come out to be killed one at a time. The humans would die. That was a given with three fully loaded Basestars waiting in the perfect position to block the escape trajectory with their massed firepower. It should have been overkill to have that much firepower sitting around. And that was not counting the number of Cylon small craft supporting this one little mission.

Raider 874 had been in the third wave of small craft to launch from the three Basestars covering the only exit from the anchorage. It, along with all of the other Cylons, had been very surprised when the supposedly unarmed and lightly armored old battlestar had stopped moving dead in the Cylons' gun sights. Then of all things, it had started firing back into the oncoming waves of Cylons Raiders, Heavy Raiders, and even the supporting Cylon capital ships. All with weapons and ammunition it was not supposed to have. It had been... disconcerting for the attacking Raider.

Raider 874 had still been out of range when the first flak rounds fired at the Cylons by the human ship exploded into space. But it had been close enough to have no problem seeing civilian ships coming out of the clouds. It could see ship after civilian ship exit the atmosphere and jump away to freedom. Something flared through its system. It was a lot like anger that its prey was getting away from its weapons.

But it had not had long to try to work out an attack method on the fleeing civilian ships. That was because it ran right into a stream of KEW rounds fired by an old MK II Viper riding a long tail of flame. One that it had not seen closing with it while it's attention was on the other human ships slipping away. And the Battlestar had not been listed as carrying any operational fighter craft. So back into the soup it went, without even engaging the humans for a second time in a row.

Its third life was longer. This time around, it was assigned to a Basestar that was acting as escort to one of the life giving download ships that the Cylon fleet relied on to refresh their fleet. The one ship that was sometimes called a Resurrection ship. That is, until that very important ship was attacked by two battlestars of all things.

Raider 874 had been on a patrol route that had put it on the other side of the fleet when the attack first started. That did not mean that it was going to be out of the fight for long. As soon as it understood that its fleet was under attack, it had jumped to the reported jump wave detection site.

Only to be jumped by a Colonial combat group centered around a late arriving Mercury-class battlestar, along with what it thought was that same old battlestar from the anchorage. It had since learned that the old ship it had attacked was called the Galactica. This information was from both the humans and the human form Cylons, and the name was always said in fear or awe. The old warship from what the humans called the First Cylon War had a reputation for being hard to kill. It also had a reputation for sending many Cylons to their graves even before this war had started again. This time, Raider 874 and its two wing support craft were killed by two of the human crewed Vipers.

It had been frustrated to find that its computer attack did not work on these two human warships. It had had to quickly revert back to just its normal guns and missiles for attacking the million plus ton warship. It had turned out to be good timing on its part to be blown apart by one of the old Vipers when it did. That was because it had been shifted to the Hub to be brought back, instead of the oddly shaped ship that was being attacked by the pair of human warships. The transfer had happened just before the Restriction ship was blasted with a nuclear missile, ending its usefulness to the Cylons. If it had died earlier in the battle, it would have been held in the Resurrection Ship's data banks. And when those data banks were blasted it would not have gotten a new hull at all.

If 874 had lasted a few seconds more in combat against the humans, it would have been lost permanently like so many other Cylons on the large ship and its escorting protectors that day. It had made it to the ship called only The Hub just about ten seconds before a surge of Cylon code hit in a massive tidal wave of rushing and sometimes conflicting data files. This quickly overloaded the main and secondary systems set up only for downloading the current generation of Cylons. In other words it had been lucky, very lucky that day. But it had no idea what luck was, or meant in the real world. That was a concept that was just out of reach of the slowly growing intelligence of this Raider.

For almost more than two years, it hunted and killed pirates, along with other human stragglers, all around the burnt out remains of the Colonies of Kobol. By now would have been classed as a Scar-type of Raider with all of the combat experience it had accumulated. That is if the controlling human forms had given any thought to ranking the skills of their metal skinned fellow Cylons. 874 was coming as close as it could to enjoying its job. That is until John arrived back from his hunt for a large group of running and escaping humans from out beyond even Cylon mapped space.

874's parent Basestar had been the closest to the travel route that John had used to bring his empty Basestar back to the main area of Cylon controlled space. The human form Cylon had ordered half of the Raiders and Heavy Raiders off of that Basestar and transferred them to fill the empty slots on his transport. He had done this even before heading deeper into Cylon control space. He had not cared that this move he had just done had seriously weakened one of the key human hunting Basestars in that part of the formerly human controlled area.

He could have just waited a few more days. Then he could have pulled support craft from areas of Cylon space that were not as active in the endeavor of wiping out the last of the humans. Those missing support craft would cause the loss of that Basestar in the not too distant future. The truth was that John was getting more and more nervous every day that he had been traveling without having the power projection or comfort that the small craft gave him. In short he felt vulnerable, and he hated it right down to his toes.

Raider 874 was not needed for duty while this deep in Cylon control space. So it had been put into sleep mode while John gathered all the items he wanted from across Cylon or Cylon controlled space. All that he gathered were the items that he wanted for the return trip to the human prison planet. He felt that it was his mission to do with as he pleased. He had spent all of the time on the trip back talking himself into believing that when he did not bring back the bulk of the items the others had requested, there would not be any blow back. While he was filling up his ship, most of the other human form lines exited his craft. The trip back out would have most of the human form cabins filled with members of his own line. Or from the lines he felt were the most loyal to his for leadership.

874 did not know how long he was sleeping in the bowels of the Cylon capital ship while John gathered forces and most of the cargo he wanted. John had not been in that much of a hurry while he gathered everything that was on his little wish list. At first he did not feel that there was any danger while he was gone from New Caprica. The problems on the ground were only problems on the ground of that one planet. The three Basestars, and three full combat brigades should be enough to keep the humans under the Cylon thumb, right?

Raider 874 had only come back awake when they left the main areas of Cylon controlled space, and entered the area of space that had been barely mapped by both humans and Cylons. The only reason it had known about the movements away from Cylon space, was by a mistake. John had forgotten about the auto-awaken program that had been loaded into all of the early generation Raiders.

Raider 874 had been alive longer than almost any other Raider still in the Cylon order of battle. So long in fact, that it was a lot smarter about what was going on around it than the human forms thought was possible for it to be. It was even smart enough to hide this fact from the human forms. So when things started to be different, it noticed the change and it took note of them as it sat in its bay taking in sensor readings from the hybrid. It even started to pay attention to some of the digital conversations going on within the Basestar itself.

* * *

John was in a rush to get back to the humans. This was something he had not done on the way out from the planet hidden in the odd nebula, and now he was thinking that maybe should have. He had been getting the feeling that the other human forms were going to ruin all of his plans while he was gone. Something was wrong, and he could feel it deep down where he did not often look.

The Cylon made Basestar could jump longer distances, and its drive could recharge faster than any other ship known to exist. John was pushing it as hard as he could. At least, without wasting more fuel than was necessary or burning out its engines with the abuse he was demanding of the ship and its controlling hybrid.

It was a knife edge dance of balancing between all three needs he required of the ship. It was during one of the last few maximum ranged jumps the Basestar could safely make that something changed. It was the one that would have taken it right to the edge of the nebula that the humans had found a planet to hide on.

Something was detected on the massive ship's DRADIS. Something that caused the hybrid on the Basestar to make an unplanned jump before bringing the ship to an almost crashing halt. Whatever it was, the hybrid had not passed it to be flagged for one of the human forms to look at. Perhaps part of her mind thought that if they wanted to know, then they could frakking well check it out on their own.

John felt the surge through the datastream interface in the CIC of the Basestar. It was like an electrical shock, which by all rights should have curled his toes and knock him off of his feet. It was just too bad both of these events did not take place just yet.

"What the frak!" He looked over to another of his models who also had his hands in the interface. Nether he nor they had ordered the short ranged hop that the capital ship had just executed. Much less had sudden, crashing halt that could have damaged the sensitive engines on the great ship.

The second Number One looked at John and shrugged. "I think maybe our hybrid is due for a replacement. It jumped us to the wrong frakking location."

This should have been impossible. Only the Resurrection Ships and the Hub should have been able to adjust a course without input from one of the human forms. With the new protocols John had put into this ships interface, it could only be done from three places on this ship. One was here in the command center, and the other two were in locations that only members of his line could access. In other words, it should not have happened without him knowing about it before hand.

A third Number One in the control center used the datastream interface at his position and tried to figure out why they had jumped to this location instead of where they were supposed to be. It did not take long to find the information he was looking for, but it took longer to make sure it was true, and in his opinion if it came only from a hybrid it was suspect at best. It still was only a second or two of delay before he passed the information he found along to the rest of the interface users.

"We have a Cylon distress beacon five hundred meters off our bow, John." Disbelief leaked through his tone though the Number One tried his best to stop it. But he could not stop the shock from showing on his face.

"WHAT!" John's head snapped up and looked over at his clone, mentally demanding more information from him. He wanted it right that second, and not a second longer. One part of John's mind was thinking that this must be some kind of joke. One in very bad taste. Another part of his mind was really hoping that it was only a joke. Because if it was not... John shut down that line of thinking with a fast mental brick wall. There were some things that he did not want to think about if he did not have to. One never knows. You might bring the devil, if you call him by name.

The second Number One let the demand run off him like water on a duck's back. But he did start relaying information that was coming through from the Hybrid controlled sensors of the Basestar. Without using his lungs, he communicated with the others currently in the command center.

"It's a Raider. It looks to be dead, and life-support is reading zero. Main and secondary power systems are not operational. Maybe they are depleted? The only thing that separates it from any other rock out there is the emergency beacon. The Hybrid is checking out the ID number and core transponder codes now against the ship's records."

John had to wait for the information, but instead of keeping his hands in the cool wetness of the interface, he walked the short distance to his clone, and entered his hands back into the goo there. It was a very human response to surprising data.

The clone looked at the one called John after a few more seconds. "It's from Basestar 34! One of the ships we left in orbit over the humans in the nebula." The clone of the Number One caressed his forehead. something was not right. He made eye contact with the oldest of his line of clones.

There had been some talk among the younger Ones that maybe something was wrong with this John's mental state, after all. Now he was not so sure, that the leader of the Ones might have been wrong after all. They should have been pushing harder to get back to the human prison planet. It would seem that something had happened while they were gone.

John beat him to the question going through everyone's mind in the CIC. He was so shocked that he spoke out loud to the whole room. "How and why the frak did it end up all the way out here? Where are the rest of them? If someone sent it out here and it did not report back, they should have sent a pair of Heavy Raiders within a dozen hours of it being overdue to find it. That is standard procedure for a missing scout."

John kept his voice steady and in control as he spoke to the rest of his line. That was not done without a lot of effort, on his part.

The other clones did not answer the questions, and only looked down into the wet-interface. One of them did a little flick of one wrist, in the thick goo in the tank.

"I'm now picking up another one, make that a second group. We are now picking up a total of three Raiders near us and relative to the nebula. I have plotted the locations of all three craft. They are all on a line for a least time transit back to Cylon space from New Caprica."

The One that had been talking all of the sudden gave a longer pause. "None of them are responding to our hails. They might be dead, also. This must have happened some time ago if their backup power supplies have been depleted already."

John knew something had gone wrong, but he had no idea what it might be. And that scared him to his very core. His mind was a whirlwind as he tied to figure out a way to find out what he was missing. He needed more information, but how could he get it?

"Send out a few Heavy Raiders, and bring them all aboard in auto recovery mode. Maybe one of the Fours can find out what happened to them." John made a sour looking face, as his modified brain worked on the problem that had been thrown into his lap. "I wonder... Why were they making a run for home?"

John's eyes popped fully open, and his eyebrows went deep into his hairline. He had an idea of why the short ranged ships might be on a least time run back to Cylon controlled space. "I want every piece of cylon equipment picked up! You never know what might have something useful in it."

He hoped that he was not going to find what he thought he might. Then again, if it was as bad as he thought, then he could use it as more evidence to finish wiping out the humans once and for all time.

The group of Ones in the CIC all nodded in agreement, and the orders were given to the ship's Hybrid to achieve the tasks that had been just given to it. While they were waiting, the ship was able to look both better and deeper into its surrounding space. In that time, five more Raiders and Heavy Raiders in the local space were found.

All of them were dead, with completely empty fuel tanks and depleted back up power systems. None had even enough power to activate their emergency beacons. Without any power, the bio-matter that controlled the craft had frozen solid in the unbelievable cold of space between the stars. Raider 874 had been part of the group that pulled in three of the hulks all the way back to the Basestar. It had both not liked the work, and become worried about what had driven its bothers to basically take on a suicide mission.

* * *

After a two day delay, the Basestar that was John's flagship had stopped only a few light years away from the target system. John still had no idea what had happened, no matter what they had tried. They had not been able to pull any data off of the recovered Cylon small craft, so John was leery of a trap being sprung on him by the humans. The only reason that John could think of for the Raiders to try to make a run for home was that something catastrophic must have happened to all of their Basestars that had been left behind. When it was late at night and John was alone with his thoughts, he would admit that he knew of only one human person who might be able to kill three Cylon capital ships, and his name was Bill Adama.

From his flagship's current location, it could safely launch a few Raiders without any threat of detection. They were not able to gain any information from the frozen Raiders and Heavy Raiders had found on the way back to the cold planet. The ones that far out had not been damaged in the attack, and the ones that had been damaged were still lost in the nebula. If they had found those, they would have been able to put together that the damage had been done by normal Colonial weapons.

John had convinced himself that somehow the humans in the guise of Adama the Elder had attacked the Cylons left over the cold planet. And that he was still waiting there for him. To kill a Number One called John once and for all. For one of the few times in his life, John was scared. And he had to hide this powerful emotion from his fellow Cylons as well as his fellow Number Ones. They would see it as weakness, and would be at him like a pack of daggits on a three legged cat. After all, that was what he did when he saw that weakness in the other Cylon lines. So why would they not do that to him in return?

Since John suspected a trap, he sent a single scout to the cold system instead of the Basestar. The scout would see what was waiting for John while he waited nice and safe somewhere else far away. That was why Raider 874 was now in that same system that the human form was too scared to enter even if he was wrapped up in a Cylon capital ship.

Raider 874 was not happy. It knew that of all of the Cylon craft, it and its brothers were the least easily detected by a Colonial DRADIS array. It still did not like the idea that it was some kind of bait or that it was expendable. That it was an acceptable sacrifice to keep the human forms safe on the now hiding capital ship.

Something clicked in a part of the brain of the Raider, and it was flooded with thoughts of love, respect, and admiration that must be given to all of the human forms. It was the first time this had happened to 874. But this time, Raider 874 was able to make a note to remember this odd event. And later look back at it to try to figure out why it happened.

It had only been able to do that because it had had been awake long enough for its coding to start to degrade in certain subroutines. On a side channel 874 passed along this note to some of its younger brothers who were still back on the hiding Cylon flagship. It also added the little bit of information it had found in one of the wrecked Cylon craft. The one about metal demons living in this system, and that Cylons should leave this place. This was information that was not passed to the hybrid or the other Cylon forms.

Raider 874 had a mission to do and even though it was not that happy about the job, it knew that it had to be done. So it fired its low mounted twin engines to get it moving in the right direction. It was not much of a burn, just a slight push that added just a few dozen meters per second of speed to him. It was very far out system, and very far from the small life giving zone of the star system.

The orders had been to scout the system, but there was nothing about how to do that job. Without instructions, it fell back on old training from before the new wave of attacks. This might be good or it might be very bad.

In the end, it reverted back to what it knew worked against the humans in their home system. It had learned long ago that it was best to jump far out, then let onboard sensor systems absorb the information for a while before risking moving through the highly visible thrusters.

So Raider 874 drifted until it was convinced that the area was somewhat clear before moving closer with short, very slight bursts of its thrusters. This method allowed it to close slowly, very slowly. Slowly enough that it looked more like an orbiting rock than a high tech fighting machine that was a mix of biological and mechanical components. That was the way it moved until it was pretty sure nothing big and nasty was going to kill it out of the deep black.

874 spent a lot of time looking toward the cold planet and the surrounding space as it slowly moved closer to the star. It was not picking up any signs of human or Cylon life from the planet that was below it. After an hour of looking around, it felt that it was safe enough to move forward and complete its mission. The whole system seemed like it was at least safe-ish. The Raider jumped closer in to the heat source of this system.

In a wave of quickly diffused energy, the Raider was in its new location. The details its sensor systems were picking up now was a lot better than what it had been able to gather from so much farther outsystem. It could now see the expanding clouds of mixed metal and bio-matter that used to be three Basestars as they continued their own orbits around the yellow star. It could also pick up an odd metal cloud, which if its systems were right was a large portion of a Colonial battlestar floating in the same general area of the clouds of Cylon made matter.

The Raider took in as much information as it could, and again it was not happy with what it needed to do for the next leg of its mission. Now it knew that it had to fire its twin massive engines both longer and hotter than before in order to get more detailed information on the wrecks, both from the Cylon and human ships. With the display of light and heat its engines had just made, Raider 874 decided that hiding was not needed any longer. It powered up its active systems, allowing it to gather more and very detailed information from the surrounding area.

The last item it had to check out before it could leave again was the cold wet planet. The one that the humans had called home for the last year or so. This mission was already going so much better than it should have been possible. 874 was to keep looking until it saw anything that might be a warship or until it had finished running a scan on the only life supporting planet in this system. Only after either of the two happened would it be able to leave this place.

One part of the Raider's mind was wishing that it could just leave now. But the computer coding buried deep within the bio-mass would not allow it. Part of 874 knew that death was waiting in this system. And somehow it knew that if it died out here, it would not be coming back ever again.

Raider 874 made a high orbital pass, but it could not pick up any useful information at this high of an altitude above the planet's surface. It had to drop lower and lower into the thickening atmosphere as both its active and passive systems gathered data. It even made a high speed pass only a few thousand meters over the area that had been the field full of grounded human spaceships. That once congested area was completely empty of those objects, or any other sign of life for that matter.

The only way the Raider knew it was in the right location was that it could make out what was left of the temporary building the Cylons had built to use as their ground based headquarters. The DRADIS system on the Raider was automatically searching for patterns that were not natural. It did not take long to find Major Weston's rock note in a nearby open field. With this new information, the Raider had to follow up on it.

Raider 874 made a sharp bank and climbed a little higher to safely investigate the strange return on the DRADIS as it was programmed to do. In seconds it overflew the area, and the Raider activated all of its sensors including weapons tracking to record what it was overflying. It diligently recorded everything in the area, and then applied even more power to its twin engines. The Raider used its speed and control surfaces to change its trajectory and climbed back into the sky.

Once high enough it went into a hammerhead stall to point its sensors back at the open field and get a better look at the strange rock formation. With the bleed off of speed, Raider 874 activated its gravity plates. That way it did not have to worry about little things like stalling and falling from the sky just because it lost the lift given to it by its oddly shaped wings. The Raider did a slow pivot around the rocks, looking at them from every angle that it was able to do so.

It had almost completed a full rotation of the field, when a subroutine was able to translate what the rocks would look like to human eyes. This kicked in another set of codes, which basically said it was time to leave. Right the frak now. 874 had no problem obeying those orders. In fact it was very happy to so.

874 put all the power that it could into its massive engines, and pointed its nose to the gray sky. The matte chrome skinned monster shot out of its previous vector, and climbed like its very life was in imminent danger. It was in a full military power climb, and the sharp double crack of the Cylon breaking the sound barrier just under two hundred meters above the ground carried for kilometers around the site it was fleeing. The Raider was moving so fast in the thick air that its skin stared to glow first red, then orange around the tips of the C shaped wings. But it kept going, despite the many warning indicators this maneuver was causing.

It felt that it needed to put as much distance between it and the ground below as fast as it could. Not as fast as was okay, but as fast as it could. A counter built into the Raider was counting up fast, and it reached eighteen thousand meters in a handful of seconds after it started dumping fuel into the twin engines. The massive engines were like giant blow torches pointed back towards the planet. They were hard to see against the sun after a few seconds, but the contrails that followed the rapidly ascending craft was easy to see for a longer bit of time than the flames of the engines.

The Cylon kept climbing, and when it crossed the thirty thousand meter mark above local ground level, the sky went from blue to black. The Raider now looked like a very bright shooting star, if going the wrong way. The Raider had another surge of speed now that the craft did not have to fight the friction causing by an atmosphere moving around its body. 874 kept going, in a more or less straight line from what it had last seen, until it had reached about a hundred and sixty kilometers about the planet's surface.

874 had a full charge for the jump engine ready to go in a second's notice since the start of this mission. It had kept the engine spun up for the entire mission, and it now used the charge it had been holding for emergency use. In a flash the fleeing Raider was gone out of this strange star system, happy to see the planet in its rearview scanners. It had even felt good when the planet was gone from view as the jump engine did its job.

* * *

On the dark side of the planet, Captain Kelly was on the bridge of his ship. He had spent almost every waking minute there since the human controlled spaceships had left this system. He had just finished the latest in an unknown number of caffeinated drinks consumed one after the other in the last eighteen hours. He knew that he needed to get some good solid sleep, but no matter what one part of his brain told him he could not force himself to leave the command area of the Settlement.

Kelly was in the process of sitting the open topped cup down on the holder designed for it when the phone started beeping beside his command position. It was not a smooth landing for the cup, as the fingers guiding it simply let go while still a few centimeters up. Kelly had to look down, and see his caffeine fueled hands shaking. He knew that this was a very bad sign. He now had proof that he was in for one big frakking caffeine crash in the near future. And there was nothing he could do about it now.

He picked up the horn shaped device, and as soon as it was near his mouth he spoke into it. Even to his punch drunk ears it sounded awful, like he had been gargling roofing tacks or something like them. "Kelly here. Yes. Can you ID the type? Okay thank you for the information. Please let me know if you see anything else."

That was all of the rest of the Bridge crew heard, from the one sided conversation. They would not know what the call had been about, until or unless he told them. That did not mean that they did not have an idea of what it might be. Everyone knew what time it was. And the whole bridge crew was holding its breath, waiting to see if what they had planned for was going to happen even close to the way that they had hoped it would.

Kelly took the phone away from his face, and placed it back in its cradle with a hard click. He picked up his hot mug, and took another slow slip of the energy drink it was holding. And while it was on its way down to his abused stomach, he looked toward one of the manned positions off to his right side. He knew that every set of eyes were trying to drill holes in his back. That did not mean that he was going to let them know how stress was affecting him. That would not have been the captain-like thing to do or show.

"Please make a note in the ship's log." Kelly now pitched his voice so as to carry to the back of the bridge, so that everyone could hear him without him needing to yell.

"Three minutes ago the Stapps saw a single Cylon small craft, possibly a Raider class moving like a bat out of hell going from high altitude into high orbit over the planet. They were able to track it all of the way up to when it jumped away. It jumped as soon as it was clear of the highest parts of the planet's atmosphere. From what we know about their interstellar drive, it was just on the edge of safe to pull something like that off." Now Kelly let his tone take on a little sing song voice, like he was talking to a very young child.

"It would seem that the little Cylon did not like being here." He stopped talking, and looked around the Bridge as much as he could without getting out of his chair. He realized that he was too tired to spend the energy to stand up.

When he saw every eye was still on him, he gave them all a sly but also tired smile. "Set the main countdown clock for a four day countdown. It looks like we were given good intel about the Cylons' timetable, after all. Let's just hope, that the rest of it turns out to be as good as the first part."

As soon as the clock was reset, Kelly felt like someone had pulled the plug on him. His energy level dropped like a rock, and now he was having problems keeping his eyes open and focused. After all of the caffeine he had drunk, he should have been up for another few hours without a problem. He stood up from his chair on very unsteady legs and with an aching back. He could feel what his body was demanding of him. And now he had no problem giving in to that demand.

"I will be in my day cabin, if anyone needs me for something important. Have someone wake me twenty minutes before the next shift change. Officer of the Day? You have the ship."

Kelly did not have to point a person out to do the job. It would get done because it was a good crew that worked for him. Captain Kelly now could get some sleep. He needed to keep his health up and the quickest way to lose that health was to not be rested. They all still had a lot of work to do, and it now had been physically proven that time was getting short. It had all been proven in a way that no one would be able to argue against. Death was coming, and it not a joke.

* * *

Four days later, John's flagship was back in the hidden star system. He had no problem telling that it was not the same as he had left it all of those months ago. As soon as the Basestar's systems had recovered from moving ten light years, and he was sure it was not a trap, John ordered a launch of his ship's full complement of fighting craft, and all were armed to the teeth. He broke all of those Raider and Heavy Raiders into six equal groups of Raiders and Heavy Raiders.

One group would stay with the Basestar to act as a CAP or escort for his ship, and more importantly, help protect his body. One group would head down to investigate the area where the Colonials had set up their little town around the grounded spaceships that the Cylons had not blown apart. One group each would be heading to the four different locations where the different ships' wreckage were to be found in the star system.

John had to find out what had happened here while he was gone. He had found out over the last few months that he hated being puzzled, and that the not knowing was slowly killing him. He loved to play games with people, as long as he was in control. When he knew every fact while others did not hold those same cards. This current situation just was not fair, in his mind.

Each of the formations of small craft were commanded by a group of human form Cylons in a single Heavy Raider. John stayed aboard his flagship, using its powerful systems to search deeper into the local star system. All while he waited for each of the group leaders to report back on what they had found in each of their assignments.

While he waited, John pulled up a copy of the recorded information that the lone scouting Raider had transmitted to the Basestar as soon as it was in range of its mother ship. He made a note and sent it to the Hybrid. He thought that the older Raider type craft needed to be check on after this mission. It seemed to be acting funny, and the code it had used looked odd. He could not put his finger on it, but it seemed like the inhibitor was somehow slipping. He thought that he could feel joy when it was ordered to return to a landing bay. Lower forms of Cylons should not be able to feel anything, much less joy about being told to do something.

At first John had wanted to jump immediately to the system that had been just scouted. But cooler heads from around the CIC's other Number Ones had pointed out that their Basestar had been traveling for a long time. Most of his line thought that they should run a full systems test on the ship to make sure that the Basestar was ready for combat. As it turned out, John counted himself lucky that he had listened them. Because the ship had not been combat ready at all. If he had pushed to jump back to the hidden system, it would not have been able to fight that well against any attackers. They had packed so much stuff into the Basestar that it was adversely affecting the warfighting functions of the Cylon flagship.

It had taken some time to move things around, all so that the Basestar could do its primary function of combating Colonials. Some items had just been thrown out of the nearest airlock, to make it so that the ship could fight again. John had final say on anything that was jettisoned, and nothing that he wanted was tossed out into the cold of space. This was not going to make any of the Sixes and Eights that happy when they found out about this development. But now he had a reason to not have that crap in the way. And by the looks of it, he was only going to have trouble from the human forms in this one ship.

The returning Raider had not detected any sign of a functioning warship anywhere in the systems. That did not stop most of the human form Cylons from still thinking that it might be a trap of some kind, or held other dangers that the shortsighted Raider might have somehow missed. All they knew was that they could not contact any Cylons in the system. The Raider had done everything but make a massed call for any Cylons that might be left alive on the planet or in space.

So when the Basestar jumped right into orbit over the life giving planet, they had done it the same way that the Cylons had done on the opening day of the renewed war against the Colonies of Kobol. The massive multi armed ship was able to launch wave after wave of support craft to sweep aside any would be attackers while they were still on the ground. After only a few minutes, the small craft broke into predetermined groups, and went to their assigned tasks at full thrust. There was not any need to keep all of those craft around. Not after they had not been greeted by a wall of Colonial weapons fire.

It was a good plan. It was a by the book plan, and a very predictable plan. It also just happened to be what the humans had been counting on the Cylons to do after their scout had reported back to the rest of them. It was always nice when an enemy did exactly what you wanted them to do.

What the Cylons did not know was that they were being watched by an optical telescope that had been set up on the ground below them. It was not unheard of for either Colonials or Cylons, but there simply was no way for them to tell at the distance involved.

The telescope was able to secretly watch every move the Cylons made. And everything was recorded both by systems on the ground, and by the passive systems on the remote Raptor floating in space. The latter was just a very small rock in a very big solar system. It would be the most reviewed Cylon operation in the history of that race. And this enemy would know nothing about it, ever. It would become the core module of training data for years to come among the human fleet.

* * *

Later that day on the planet's surface, the human forms gathered where Major Weston had left his little note for the them to find. It was made out of large off white stones. Unknown to them some had been carried from over a hundred kilometers away to be put in this one spot of an open field. John was walking around and around the white stones. And then he climbed up the side of a nearby Heavy Raider to get a look from a bit higher elevation. He wanted to be able to look down at the stone design in the open field even if he had no idea if it would help or not. He was stumped at the field below him. This just made no logical sense to him, it was just too alien for him to wrap his warped mind around.

He was still looking at the stone work, but he could multi-task. While he was studying the stones, he could hear a group of fellow Ones pulling themselves up the opposite side of the Heavy Raider that he was standing on. John had his back to them as they climbed up, but when they were close enough to speak without raised voices he was ready for what he already knew they were going to say to him. That still did not make him happy about it.

At the last minute, he decided that he was not going to wait for them to start asking him questions. "What is going on with this frakked up mudball of a planet? Do any of you all have any useful ideas about what the frak is going on?"

The eight other Number Ones looked at each other for a few seconds, and then the Number One with the muddiest boots spoke for the rest. "It would seem that whoever lives here were here before we found the humans anyway. Looks like it does not like Cylons being on their planet. I've checked out most of the sites that we can tell had signs of a firefight. But we've found nothing that explains anything. Well, that is not totally true about finding nothing."

This Number One used his old face to give an odd little grin. "We've found Cylon bodies at those sites, but all of them are human forms. We haven't found any Raiders, Heavy Raiders, Centurions, or any other types of military equipment at all. We've found signs of small craft crash sites all over the place, but no hulls were left behind for us to evaluate. We also have not found a single Colonial body yet. And, we have no way of telling when this all happened. The last Colonial grave we found was the one that was filled not long before the Flagship left this planet. I recall that they were waiting to bury someone, one of the humans who fell and broke his neck just before John left this place."

The same Number One was now pointing to the words made of large off white rocks in the open field with a steady arm and hand. "We have found more than a few human form heads under some of those rocks. But that also does not give us a clue to how it happened. Without animals or insects on this planet, the decay should have been very steady, but the wet and cold are affecting the tests we have been able to run. It would take years of study on this subject to get any closer than that it happened months ago."

The Number One that liked being called TJ had also hinted to a few others on the walk over to see John that they should have kept some of the Colonial criminal investigation personnel, or at least some of their data bases on how to do those types of jobs. Then again TJ knew that John would not have reacted well to what he would take as an attack on his leadership. TJ did not bring it up now, but he did get a few concerned looks from his fellow Number Ones. Most of them thought he was awfully close to crossing some sort of line where John was concerned.

A different Number One, this one in a Colonial flight suit, decided that he should speak next to this group meeting of his line. "I was able to board part of some of the larger bits of what was left of the Basestars that remained behind after the flagship left. Something large and heavy entered the Basestar, and it was definitely not Colonial or Cylon." The One lifted his chin up, daring any one of them to challenge him about his statement. When none did, he continued.

"I have no idea if it was before or after the ship was split apart by weapons fire. But whatever it was ripped every hatch off of their mountings like they were made of nothing stronger than bathroom paper. I could see what looked like massive foot and hand prints pushed into the corridors and ceilings of the hulks."

He stopped talking for a second, and looked around the faces that were exactly like his own, before he started talking again. He needed a second to calm back down. "And some of those prints that I saw, I will swear are massive animal claw marks, and they are all over the place."

The old looking human form Cylon started to sweat in the cold air as he ended the last statement. He started to shake a little as he had a flash back to the time he had spent in the cold dead hull of what was left of the Cylon Basestar. Little did he know that every time he or anyone saw the downloaded feeds, all of them would have horrific flashbacks for months afterwards. It was not just the strange animal like prints they saw. It was all of the floating bodies that those wrecks also still held.

The One took a few long seconds to get his rebelling body back under control, then he continued with his report to what was in fact the leadership of the whole Cylon race. "I'm leaning towards the strange damage happening after the main battle. That's because the weapons residue we picked up in the wreckage, were all of Colonial origin. I was even able to see the Colonial debris field that the Raider reported."

Now the Number One had a silly smile plastered all over his face. "It looks like during the battle with our fleet, the Galactica was destroyed. We were able to identify major parts of the hangar pod, and main hull fragments that had her markings all over them. I doubt even Bill Adama could have been able to save her. Not with the amount of wreckage we have seen of different sub systems of Colonial make and model. We think that she took between two and four nuclear strikes. There is just no way a Jupiter class could take that kind of damage and still be worthwhile to fix. Even if Adama had access to a fully operational dockyard."

John looked around the group, and all of them were nodding their heads in agreement with what the last One had said. He would later remember how they looked like a pack of bobble heads following his lead, just like they were supposed to.

John was a bit different since he was the first Number One to be given consciousness. And this show was driving him over the edge. So it was with a lot more scorn in his voice that he brought something up to the group. The big question was still out there, and none of these Ones had even addressed it yet. John was starting to think that he might need to make a few additional adjustments to his own line in the near future.

"So what happened to Roslin and her crew?" He pointed in the general direction of the now empty field that was some eighty kilometers away from the site this whole group was standing on.

The fourth Number One met John's eyes in a level gaze. "Maybe they evacuated the planet during the fight with whatever attacked our ships in orbit. They could have packed everything up, and left with the Pegasus acting as an escort for their surviving civilian ships. If the Bill Adama was still alive after what happened to his ship, he might have done something like that after the battle."

This Number One gave a shrug."After all, he has done something like that before. Just like when he ran from us the first time at the battle of Ragnar Anchorage. We've found some clues that seem to hint that both battlestars were in system during the attack on our fleet. But we have not found anything that can lead us to believe both were rendered nonfunctional in the battle."

What he has just used so many words to say was that a battlestar had escaped again. And the rest of the humans were on the run with a lone Colonial battlestar acting as escort. Just like what had happened before, it was happening again.

A different Number One was looking over the words written in stone too large to have moved without heavy cranes or lifting ships. The worrying part was that there had not been any of the track marks or engine burn marks those two types of transports should have left in the grass and mud. It was like some giant hand had put the rocks there from where the rocks had been found.

"I think something does not want us here. The others lines still on the Basestar already want to leave this planet as soon as we can. We will not have the votes to stay very long if the question of whether to leave or to stay in this system is called. I also don't think that we have the numbers in combat forces to defeat whatever just took out all of the ground forces we left on this planet and the three Basestars in this system with or without the help of the humans."

The One that had been speaking was looking at each of the faces around him. "I want you all to think about something. What if the humans did not help whoever was on this planet? If we are right, and the strange dents in the wreckage were done after the battle, that could mean that whoever or whatever was on this planet has space or more importantly space combat capabilities. What if that capability is on par with their ground fighting capability?"

The One that had been speaking had a flash, an image of whole Cylon battle fleets being wiped out. All by strange weapons that could stop the Cylons in those ships from coming back into new bodies. It was a nightmare they would not be able to wake up from.

Two of the other Number Ones must have had the same image pop into their heads, as they also shuddered in their boots. Then this Number One spoke to the rest of group out loud, and it was what more and more of them were thinking.

"Maybe it is a good idea to leave, and then maybe come back later. But only when we have more resources to rectify the issues that this system is giving us." Not one of the other Number Ones needed to be told that the word rectify really meant genocide of what was left of the human race as they saw it.

John nodded his head in agreement, but he felt the corners of his lips turn down of their own accord. He knew that he was going to lose if he fought the others on this issue. He could just feel it in one part of his augmented brain. Maybe it was because some part of him wanted to leave this planet behind him also. John only had the one Basestar that was his flagship as a combat ship. It was filled with everything the Cylons needed to wage a good sized war.

Part of the delay getting back to this system was that John had collected seven thousand Centurion consciousnesses. They were to be used to download into any empty platforms that could not be refilled the normal way. There was a reason that Resurrection Ships were so large, and John had to leave over two dozen Raiders hulls back in Cylon space to make room for them. He did not have an issue with leaving them behind. It seemed that on this planet, those craft were too lightly armed and armored to add any real combat strength to accomplish his needs.

"Okay, we put something forward for our people to take a vote on. I say that we scout the system and planet for the next twenty-four hours. This timeline starts after they have agreed to the idea in the first place. If we don't find anything, then we leave for Cylon space again. We have to push, that everyone agrees to one other thing."

John stopped talking and he had an evil look on his face. "That is, that we will come back. And we come back as soon as we have the forces and proper support all lined up for an extended operation. We have to find what is left of the humans! And we also need to find out what really happened here while we were gone. Then get whatever is going on under control. Before it has a chance to spread like the disease on the universe that the humans currently are. Besides I don't like the way some of the other lines are working together in a voting group. If they make a strong enough power block, they could become a problem for us in the future. I will box them all and not just the ringleaders if I have to." The last was given out loud in very low voice so that only the Number Ones nearest to John could pick it up, even with the enhanced hearing that all Cylons had built into their heads.

The group of old looking Cylons all nodded as one, in slow motions of their silver topped heads. They agreed to everything that the parent model had said to them word for word. They instinctively know that the meeting was done, and made their way down the steep side of Heavy Raider to walk in the mud again. John just turned his back on the members of his line, and looked back at the words made of stones in the field below him. Only a few nearby Cylons heard what he was mumbling under his breath as he looked at those off white rocks spread out in a muddy field.

"How could the humans do this, and not leave any sign of how they did it?"

He could think of a dozen ways he could have moved the massive rocks, and set them in a pattern that when seen from above was readable. But he would have needed hundreds of Centurions, or some Colonial heavy lifting cranes, some Heavy Raiders, or even fifty or so Colonial Raptors to do the job. The hard part would have been hiding or removing the marks on the soft earth that all this equipment would have caused. Also he and his Cylons would have needed at least a year or maybe even two to mimic what could have only happened in a little over six months, maximum. That and wipe out every Cylon on and above the planet at the same time. It was just impossible to have been done, but it had been.

John sucked in his lower lip. He could only think of one other Cylon that might be able to help figure out what and how this had happened. Then again, that Cylon was dead, and would not be coming back to live in a new body. "Maybe the Twos have the right idea about this place."

He started to nod to himself. And not very loudly, he gave sound to his thoughts about what one of the Twos had said before he left this planet in his flagship Basestar. "This place is haunted."

* * *

The Settlement did not have any spying devices set up around the planet to cover all points of potential interest to the Cylons. The idea had come up a few times but it had always been vetoed because it might let the Cylons know that someone might still be on the planet after all. What would happen if any of the devices were found?

More, to be of any value, those devices would have to transmit their data to someone. Everyone knew that anything that transmits can be both tracked and intercepted. So they had to just wait on alert, and hope not to be found by the enemy. It was a very stressful time for the Earthers and Colonials who were left on the planet's surface. Most of the combat vets just tried to sleep as much as they could.

Almost everyone was checking in at Warehouse One multiple times a day. Trying to see if anyone knew anything about what was going on outside of their walls. Warehouse One was also where a few different countdown clocks had been running for some time now. They all were linked via hardwired connection directly to the Revenge's bridge to mirror the countdown displays that were running there.

It was almost hypnotic watching the numbers slowly drop on those devices. When one of the clocks reached twenty-four hours until the estimated time the Cylon Basestar was supposed to have arrived, everyone left the building in a steady stream. No one had planned it, but that just happened to be the timeline that most of the people had set to run the final checks on their personal combat equipment. No one wanted to be in the middle of having to fight a ship full of Cylons, and then find out that something was not working when they needed it the most. It was called a pre-combat check for a very good reason.

After the mass exodus, Warehouse One was empty expect for one or two people who were hoping to have company to talk to in this time of very high stress. Another surge of people came later. This time stopping by Warehouse One around the time the clock had reached or was going to reach the twelve hour mark. The Warehouse stayed busy for about four hours afterwards, before it started to empty of people again. They were going back to their homes, or doing the few jobs that still needed to be done around the area.

Captain Kelly was not one of those who had done the above. He spent most of the next four days on shift in the bridge, or in his day cabin sleeping on a cot waiting for the Cylons to return. He would only leave to shower or eat a hot meal in the ship's main mess hall. But those were the only twenty minute breaks that he took away from those two locations in that time frame. He had been trying to sleep in his day cabin, but his internal clock told him that the countdown clock was down to only a few hours. So he was awake and already fully dressed and ready for duty when the buzzer sounded on and outside the ship. This was the sound of an alert to the whole area, that an intruder had been detected or reported.

He was out of his hatch and on the bridge in a flash. Before even the second set of blasts rang out of the ship mounted noise makers. The backs of all the bridge staff were towards the Captain when he returned to his domain, but they knew he was on the bridge and what he wanted. After all, it was not like they had not had half a dozen updated warnings about what was about to happen today. The Cylon capital ship was here in obit over their heads. Now it was a question of how many of them were there going to be.

Without turning around, the enlisted person nearest the plotting glass sounded off as soon as he had seen the flash of light caused by the hatch opening from the captain's day cabin. "Sir, we picked up a massive energy spike on passive. It seems like something big jumped into orbit, and they are over the old Colonial refugee site. Sir, I think our not so nice neighbors are back for another visit."

Kelly took his position in the center of the bridge, and looked at the very thin data that his people had been able to glean from their passive systems. He then looked at the countdown clock. "Two hours early. That's close enough for me to call it two for two on the information. Where are we on the General Quarters manning? Do we have a count on class types?" As he was talking Kelly's eyes were scanning the large displays, trying to absorb every bite of information that he could.

A second voice called back to the Captain only about a second after the words had left his mouth. "Sir, all weapons are manned, operational, and under local targeting. The final crews should be there in about a minute and a half. Engine room reports ready to move, but we are still tied to the dock. Line charges are set so we can fire them off and cut the lines at your command. That is if you order it." The current OOD was checking his internal clock, and he had a slightly odd look on his face as the watched the invisible clock and held one finger in one ear to hear the reports coming in.

As soon as the second voice had stopped a third voice picked up the information flow. "Sir, we have a single Cylon Basestar, and they have launched what looks to be like all of their Raiders, and Heavy Raider small craft. We are counting six different groups forming up at this time. Mission for the groups are unknown."

Kelly looked around the bridge from port wing hatch to starboard wing hatch, and raised his voice to carry to the whole room without needing to yell. "Good. Now stay frosty people. All we have to do is be like another rock on the bayside until the Cylons leave again. Our Intel has been right twice in a row now, so there is no reason that it will be wrong now. But I still want all stations manned at all times until they leave."

Kelly gave a sly smile and did a slow turn, so that everyone could see the smile on the bridge. "No need to count on the Intel being right, just in case ye old god Murphy stops by for an unannounced visit."

This little statement brought a round of chuckles from every member of today's bridge crew. Kelly completed his turn and reached for his old fashioned field glass. He was lost in thought, and not really looking through the device. There was an old saying back on Earth that had popped into his head. That thought was sitting in the forefront of his mind. _"When the enemy is doing exactly what you want, then it's a trap."_

One of the key items of information missing from the limited information all of the Oracles could give was how long the Cylon mother ship would stop by while looking around the planet and star system. How long would they need to stay, while the Cylons were trying to figure out what had happened in this system while that one Basestar had been gone on their little supply trip?

Very few people got any sleep while they waited. That is, except for the more combat hearty, or as their peers called them crazy, of the remaining humans on the planet. Most of the people on the ground just drank water. They had no need for caffeine to stay awake, and waited ready to bolt for the defensive wall at a second's notice or less. Many of the people left behind got a few more gray hairs, as they waited for the Cylons to either find them or leave the planet. And not one bottle of beer was opened during that wait.

Most would say that they lost years off of their lives every time a Cylon Raider or Heavy Raider flew over, or near the Settlement. The people that remained behind were all volunteers, and experts in their preferred weapons. They also knew what the rules of engagement said. It was not to fire until fired upon by the Cylons first.

The exception was if they heard song called 'Highway to Hell' by a popular Chi-town group start coming out of the speakers on the massive warship. It was then, and only then, that they could blast any Cylon they could find no matter what. It was a testament to their professionalism that the fire discipline held. That did not mean that Major Weston and Captain Kelly did not hold their breath every time a Cylon craft came near their location. All it would have taken was one person to open fire and it was a good bet that the entire Basestar's load of Cylons would have dropped on top of them. After all, there was a reason that they were called Basestars by both the Colonials and Cylons in the first place.

Captain Kelly's people kept an eye on the Cylons as best they could. At least until they lost line of sight on the enemy capital ship. This had caused some sweating among the CIC crew on the Neptune. At least until it was reported a few hours later that the Stapps could see it again. Then the stress level lowered again, at least a little bit. The Basestar had slowly shifted orbit over the course of an hour. It went from very low altitude, what the Cylons and Colonials called a tactical orbit, into an orbit that was a little over forty-two thousand kilometers above the planet's surface, what was known as a fuel-saving geostationary orbit. There, it seemed to stop moving around.

This new location was high over the former site of the Colonials' refugee camp. It was well known among the Colonials that this was a more fuel efficient orbit, one where the massive ship did not have to use its very fuel thirsty engines to stay in one spot over the planet. It did increase the fuel used by the Raiders and Heavy Raiders still making trips from the higher orbit down to the planet's surface. But overall, the move to a higher orbit saved the Cylons many tons of hard to find and transport fuel.

The higher orbit also gave the huge warship's weapons and DRADIS better range and field of fire than the lower orbit had given it. That was for either targets that might be coming from the planet, or hiding somewere in this hidden system outside of planetary orbit. What the Cylons did not know was that their new location, well, it allowed the Settlement to use both its optical and electronic passive systems to keep an eye on the hostile ship. Even as it sat in orbit like a dark spider made of a mix of metal and biological material.

Every launch of small craft was watched and counted by people in hiding on the surface. Now Kelly and Weston knew, to within a few enemy craft, how many and what types of units were active in the nearby space. It was during one of these, that something happened that was different. It was quickly passed along to The Settlement's one remaining leader through the copper landlines to the CIC of the warship. The ones who had seen it had no idea if it was important or not, but they would pass along what they had seen nevertheless.

"Sir, all small craft have returned to the orbiting Basestar, including the orbiting and outer ring CAP!" That was coming from the Air Attack station in a voice that was both too loud, and with a little too much amazement at the words coming out of her mouth.

Captain Kelly had been dozing in his chair when the alert went out to the whole bridge. So when the shout came from one end of his bridge he had almost jumped out of his padded chair like someone one had kicked him in the butt with steel toed boots. He did not run exactly, but he would have run over anyone who got between him and his destination when his boots hit the deck. That is, after clearing the padded chair, and getting a steady set of legs under him.

Kelly checked the screen of the AAS station, which the passive systems were updating, along with the main plotting board for the bridge. Then took a few quick steps and reached over to the phone next to his command chair. His hand was almost at the device when it rang for his attention. Kelly looked at the device for a split second, before picking it up from its holder. He had a slight smile on his face as he wrapped his fingers around its horn. His sleep starved mind could only come up with one reason that the Cylons were pulling in their CAP. There were very few reasons why they would do that in a system that had already kill three of their capital ships.

Kelly had an idea of who might be calling, but he was not sure. However he made a mental bet with himself and he was hoping that it was who he had bet on. Otherwise he might have been wrong about why the Cylons were pulling their CAP back in. If he was that wrong, things might be about to get a lot hotter in his local area.

"This is Kelly." This was the standard generic statement he gave when the phone reached his ear. He waited for a second then nodded as words that only he could hear came to his waiting ears. "Yea, we picked that up on passive already. Please ask John to keep an eye on them a little closer than normal. I think our friends might be getting ready to leave us in the not too distant future. But I don't want to be caught with our pants down if it's a diversion of some kind and they're only getting all of their small craft ready for one big hammer blow to drop on our little heads."

He really did not think that was going to happen, but he wanted to keep everyone on their toes. He could see the members of his crew leaning a little towards him to better hear what he was saying. After all, the predictions might have turned out to have either missed something, or something else might have happened to change the outcome.

Kelly replaced the phone into its cradle, and then he looked around the command center of not only just his ship. "It's confirmed by the Stapps, over on the telescope. They do not see any small craft with their device. Even with the light from the star reflecting off of their hulls. Like I told them, let's keep an eye out and stay sharp, just in case. Pass the word to the turret captains that they need to be very sharp now. They still could launch an attack anyway and we don't want to give the Cylons a free lunch if we can help it."

Kelly returned to his seat. He knew that the Cylons were at the end of a very long supply chain. He was hoping that the Cylon craft were being recalled to save fuel that was going to be used for the return trip to Cylon controlled space. It made sense, but was it true or just wishful thinking?

For the next half hour, every eye from any person who could somewhat justify their presence on the bridge was watching the displays carefully. When the passive system picked up the power surge and energy flash coming from the plotted location of the Cylon warship, a cheer went around the room even before it could be announced to the rest of the bridge crew. It could be heard several meters deeper into hull of the ship. And then the original cheer's volume was added to by those lungs off the bridge. Soon the whole ship knew that they were not only safe, but that they had pulled another one over the mighty Cylons. The Cylon race was rapidly losing its veneer of terror.

Kelly let the cheering go on for a few seconds, letting them get some of the built up pressure vented out. But when one of the crew members started reaching over to power up one of the warship's active systems, Kelly's hand reached out quick as a snake. Stopping him mid reach with a vice-like grip that only just did not break bones under the skin. This stopped the movement of the hand and arm, but earned the Captain a shocked and scared look from the owner of the offending hand and arm. It also generated a squeal of pain from the offending crewmen that carried pretty far around the room. The squeal cut through the cheering like a knife, and had the effect of turning heads and eyes in the direction that the sound had come from.

Kelly pitched his voice to carry over the now lowing din of noise in the confined metal compartment that was the bridge of the escort warship. He had to use a trick he had learned long ago not to reverberate his voice at that volume level.

"Okay people, let's not get carried away just yet. Katy briefed you all that the Cylons liked leaving a Raider or Heavy Raider behind for between ten and twelve hours in hiding. It would be out there sitting somewhere nice and quiet, and powered down in passive mode. You know, just like we have been doing for days now. That is just in case they missed something with their first look around a target area. They know that this tactic has been proven to be a successful tactic to use against the Colonials multiple times. And we just did the same thing to them. Let's not ruin the game people, not after we have spent so much time sweating."

 _"Now that took the wind out their sails,"_ thought Kelly as his Bridge staff went back to work with their heads down over their screens. They were a little more somber than they had been just a heartbeat before. That little bit of information had fallen out of the group's mindset by the joy of thinking they had won. And something like that could have killed them, if he had not reminded them of those little details in life.

After all, being quiet and not having any active system on, had just been proven to work very well against the Cylons. So now they waited some more, as the night stretched out before them on their side of the planet. Sleep was again hard to come by for most of the younger members of the humans hiding around the village. The combat vets, well, they just put up their feet and caught a cat nap or three. They might have been sleeping or their eyes were just closed, but their weapons were loaded and only a finger tip away from their skilled hands.

* * *

High above them, the lone Raptor kept about its vigil as it had been directed to do. It was recording all of the comings and goings around the system just as it had been ordered to do, and it did not care what was going on around it. No matter how many hours it had been doing those tasks, it dully noted the jump in, and then the jump out of the Cylon Basestar. But it too didn't do anything different from what it had done since it had been awakened by the command from the battlestar's command center. It just sat cold in space. And waited and recorded everything its passive systems could pick up on its sensitive scouting class systems. When one data bank was full, it would just shift over to the next data bank and start filling the next one in line.

Its broad spectrum sensors were sensitive enough to pick up the small, and almost hidden jump signature of a Raider class ship when it activated. It was leaving to join its parent ship, just seven hours twenty-three minutes after it had been left alone. This lone Cylon craft was not seen, or picked up by the Earthers on the planet. It could have been missed when it was launched, or another craft had been double counted in its place. The passive systems on the Earth-built ship did not pick up the smaller energy wave the ten ton craft made to leave this solar system. The modified Earth-made systems also did not pick up the Heavy Raider sized energy wave when it jumped out of this system at eleven hours forty-seven minutes after the parent Basestar had left. The empty Colonial Raptor still waited and recorded data, like the dumb drone it had been turned into. And it did not care. It was only kind of worried about the slowly dropping power level, as its fuel was used up. But then again, it was not like it was a live and thinking machine.

The sun was just coming up over the area of the planet where the people from Rifts Earth had set up their little town in its protected bay. And even though a shift change had happened on the bridge just before the sun came up, all of the crew from the earlier shift was still on the bridge, waiting and standing out of the way. They wanted to see what was happening, or more importantly what was going to happen. It was not like any of them were going to be able to get any sleep during the day. At least without knowing what was happening around them.

As they had all had hoped and quietly prayed, what they wanted to happen did happen during the long night. The cylons had left the system. Another worry to this hope, was added as the sun rose over the cool gray water of the ocean. Adama was supposed to launch a scout Raptor into the solar system sometime today. All of their hard work and stress would be thrown right out the airlock, if the Cylons were able to pick up the Raptor as it jumped into this star system. Everyone was counting on the Colonial Admiral waiting long enough and listening to the Cylons' advice on how long to wait before sending in the Raptor. But it was just one more thing to give the people in the know a few more grey hairs.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, and the tensions rose with each passing minute, it was about that time when the message came in. It also was about the time most of the crew planetside was about to burst from the waiting.

The scout had come in just as planned, with Racetrack and Skulls manning the little craft's systems. After a lot of training, and now more time in space, this pair had proven time and again to be the best Raptor team in the fleet. They had had to be paid in many alcoholic drinks when this data was posted on both of the battlestars. It just was not in ether of their personalities to let something like this go un-bragged about to their peers.

The pair of Colonials had jumped into an area they knew very well. It was near a floating rock they favored. They had mapped out its orbit very closely before the Colonial fleet wiped out the Cylon space force. After they had scanned the system first in passive mode, and then with their specialized active systems in low power, they were reasonably sure they were indeed alone. They then sent a low powered radio transmission to let the Earthers know that they were not alone anymore.

The signal was sent via an Earther supplied radio, and the message was not the signal for them to come out of hiding just yet. That one special message would come sometime later if things were likely to be safe or at least maybe safe-ish. Quickly they made sure all the data they were picking up were clean, and that they did not see any Cylons in the system using the Raptor's electronic systems. When they were sure, the little Raptor made a short ranged jump to the location of the unmanned Raptor that had been left behind in the system.

The low powered and short ranged jump was the bread and butter of a Colonial Raptor recon mission. So there would be very little chance that the maneuver would be picked up by any Cylons that might be left in the system. It was a testament to Racetrack's and Skulls' skills at their craft that the jump put them only a hundred or so meters from the target, which itself was floating almost dead in space in an orbit like any other lost bit of rock from the formation of this star system. That was the perfect distance. Skulls sent the deactivation code to the anti-tamper bomb on board the other craft using a newly installed radio courtesy of the Earthers.

With the bomb now hopefully safe, Racetrack attached her Raptor's flat bottom to the flat bottom of the unmanned and very cold Raptor. The two crew members had to leave their nice and safe craft to board the empty drone Raptor. They could only check the recorded data the craft had made via a special on-board interface. This was an additional safety measure one of the Earthers had come up with early in the project. That did not mean that it was going to be that much fun working around this restriction.

As the pair accessed both the craft and the data it had collected, Skulls was able to determine in under an hour of viewing and reviewing the sensor logs that both of the craft left behind by the Cylons had already left the system. It was hoped that they went to rejoin their mothership. The two marked for review anything that was strange. Quite a bit were marked for later review. After all, very few people had ever had access to this much detailed data taken from inside a stellar nebula.

Racetrack was sweating heavily in her helmet, and doing it so badly that it was affecting her ability to work at the normal pace and skill level that she was known for. It was not like she could exactly open the visor, scratch her nose and wipe away the water droplets that were so rapidly forming on her forehead. That was an added problem to what was already a complex job. So she had to deflect it somewhat, to keep her from going crazy as she and her partner worked in what felt like a very dead Colonial craft.

"So Skulls. Do you think they are gone for real?"

Skulls was at the ECO station and looked up when he heard Racetrack's voice on the built in speakers in his helmet. He had been working with Margaret long enough that he could hear the strain in her voice. He had no idea what was causing the issue, but he did what he had always done in the past.

"I think so. I still think that we should keep to the original plan that the Admiral had and wait another few hours just to be sure. I don't trust those Cylon frakkers." He knew that his pilot would know that it was not the local Cylons he was referring to.

Racetrack looked at her partner through the clear visor and her helmeted head nodded as she spoke. "Agreed," was the one word response she gave to her ECO. They would have to stay in the old Raptor just in case something new showed up. It had the most complete background data of the system between the two. So it was better able to detect any changes in that back ground data. It was not going to be a very comfortable stay in that cold craft, with only their thin suits to support their lives with. Sometimes when you brag about being the best, you have to put up with some truly sucky missions to be able to keep that little title.

The waiting made the time pass slowly. When their suits told the wearers that they were almost out of life support, the pair carefully made their way back to the craft that had brought them to this part of the hidden star system. With their suits reconnected to the support systems of the fully operational Raptor, they sent a second message to the Settlement. The message said that all looked to be clear of any Cylon dangers. They also reported to the ground based personnel that they were returning to the battlestars soon, and to sit tight for just a little while longer. It was just as the plan had called for when all had agreed to volunteer. Every word of the one way communication was sent via the hard for Cylon and Colonial technology to detect against the back ground noise of the nebula radio.


	10. Chapter 10 The Trial of Baltar

This was not Beta read before I posted this. That means any and all issues fall onto my plat. As always reviews are welcome 2 May 2018.

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 10 The Trial of Baltar**

 **New Caprica, 956 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 4 years 2 days AT**

A series of rapid flame flashes started popping around the hidden planet, which quickly developed in to a discernible pattern of light. That is if you knew what to look for, in those energy waves that allowed interstellar travel to be possible. The Colonial War Fleet and refuge fleet, had returned to this cold world in fine fashion. The first two ships to reappear in system were the two massive Colonial warships, and then five minutes later the rest of the rag tag fleet of civilian ships started to appear at intervals that were almost perfect to within a few seconds of what had been planned for this operation.

The two Battlestars had launched every Viper and Raptor that they could man and were serviceable, threw the launching tubes and bays on both warships. They were able to complete the alpha launch before the last civilian ship had returned to this system. It was hoped that the cylons were not there, but Bill was not taking any chance. Plus, it was giving the deck crews of those two ships a good training event. One which Bill had thought, should not be wasted.

Adama, Saul and Joe Kittinger were all riding in the Flagship Battlestar's CIC, when it had come back to the hidden system. They were all in CIC watching the operation unfold before their eyes, on all of those display devices mounted in the room. Joe was a born navy man, but this type of thing was so far outside of his experience level. That he felt like he was drowning in information overload, and confusion was starting to make him doubt himself. He was there to learn, and he was doing his best that he could. But personally? He also did not want to look like a fool, while he was there for his training. That is a very hard balancing act to do well, but he was trying.

Felix was watching one of the high mounted screens that ringed the command section of the warship very closely. Reading the data display, like it was second nature. When key points, he was looking for, were displayed on one of the many screens. He would relay the data to his commander. He did not have to yell, he just pitched his voice the right way.

"Sir all the ready craft have launched, and the deck crews are almost finished spotting the second wave of Vipers and Raptors. They should start launching them in sixty seconds or less." Felix could feel his heart thumping in his chest, but somehow he still felt calm.

Adama was looking at other screens, but he had heard Felix's update. "Get all of the birds out. Full CAP. Communication. Any word from the Settlement yet?" Bill was trying not to smile. They were well ahead of what the Colonial fleet had considered to be passing event for a Fleet EX training. Not that he was going to tell them that, any time soon.

"Nothing yet, Sir. Do you want me to ring them?" They were counting on the people below seeing them, with the energy waves they had been shown how to detect with their built in equipment. And then Captain Kelly was to reach out to the Battlestars, to communicate with them. It was one of the checks and balances, which had been set up before the Colonials had left. So far all of the contact had been one way, and no replies. It was more of a send a radio message, and hope they were listing down there kind of events. Felix was looking down at another position ready to move to amend any one of the set of three messages he had ready to go already. He just needed the command to be given from the Fleet commander, and one message would be set off a second later.

Saul looked at Bill Adama, but did not say anything to his commander. He was talking to both Felix and the rest of the CIC crew. "No, Mr. Gaeta. We will stick with the plan. If they don't radio us according to plan? Then we will just put down some of our ground forces in the center of the compound ready for cylon contact of the up close and fraking personnel kind."

Saul's heart rate was starting to climb, so far everything had gone according to plan. This was starting to worry him. And he was looking under every rock, and into every shadow for the first sign of a cylon trap of some kind.

If the Settlement did not contact one of the two Battlestars? Then the warships were to assume that the cylons had found them down there, after all. If the Settlement was occupied then every remaining Earther combat trooper. And about two dozen Colonials that were armed and armored with Earther made equipment, would all land on their heads. They were to take the compound back by force of arms. Major Weston had not put all of his eggs in one basket, and some very heavy firepower was still on the Lucky Find part of the fleet Flagship. And he was not scared to use it. Besides they could always pick up the pieces later.

More and more eyes started lingering on one of the screens, as the seconds slowly passed by. But before it could be updated on one of the overhead displays. The communication station blurted the news in a young and high pitched voice.

"Sir, there still down there! Captain Kelly reports Orange Four! That is the complete message."

Saul smiled a lazy smile. And now he knew that it was his turn, to do his job. He did about a 45 degree turn, to face the right station in the CIC. It was the one that was closer to the back wall of the CIC, than it was to the center table he and the fleet commander were standing around.

"About Fraking time, sent the Reply of Red Six!" Saul could feel the pressure start to come off of him like a rock, which he did not know that he was carrying. That is until it was gone.

Orange Four was the code that the Settlement was safe, and that they only had a few flybys made by the cylons. Red Six was the counter code, to let the Settlement that everyone in the fleet was also safe. It also said that everything could go back to "normal" or as close to normal, as that word had become over the last few years. There was a page long list of codes and counter codes that had different meanings drawn up between the two staffs. Those two codes were ones, which also said that as far as both groups knew? There were not any cylons in system. If anyone of them had thought that there were still cylons in the area? They would have add two more words to the messages flying between ground and high orbit.

There was still a lot of work to do. And now everyone knew that they were on a clock. And that clock was accurate enough to be almost as scary, as a whole fleet of cylons Basestars on the attack. The first ships to land back at the Settlement. They were doing those landing, only two hours after the Colonial fleet had returned to the system. It took that long, to get the crew of those birds re-tasked. And emptied of weapons and other ordnance. When they landed at the Settlement, it was just passed local noon.

Those human crewed spaceships were all acting as short hall cargo carriers, and they were loaded down with a full load of armor plates, equipment, and special trained personnel coming off of the Colonial flagship. The plates were to be used to finish prepping Neptune's Revenge for her first, and hopefully uneventful trip into space.

Over the next two days the Earth built warship, was made ready for the lift out of the protected gray water filled bay. The Revenge was both smaller and lighter, than the Luck Find had been when they came to this world. This simply meant, that a lot less equipment needed to be off loaded in preparations for the unorthodox move that was planned for the warship in the near future. She also was built stronger, than the other ship had been. This was the same for Colonial and Earth ships, which were of civilian designed and built ship. There were not designed to take battle damage, and keep on going till the mission is completed or they rested in the mud under the sea. Civilian ship owners would have balked at the cost of such construction techniques.

The Revenge had been designed that way, from the first cut of her hull plates. All those years and billons of miles ago. Those landed plates were to fix and reinforce a few areas, which the Colonial battle damage people had thought. That they were still weak after the battle damage the ship had taken from the alien slavers. The limited off-loading of the warship and the fixing of the spot areas were being done at the same time. When it was reported up to the Flagship about how the work was going on dirt side. It had taken a while to explain the statement that was used. It was said, "That it was all assholes and elbows." Going on down on the planet's surface.

The lift of Lucky Find had been reviewed and cross checked, as soon as it had been fully attached to the old Battlestar. This was not something that had been done in one day. A lot of people had spent all of the intervening time, looking at all of that gathered data. Computer models were made, run, rerun, modified, and rerun again and again. In the end, it was worked out that they did not have strip down the ship like they had thought they should have. But that did not mean that the stripping stopped, only they would not go as far with her.

This one fact had a major direct impact, when they adjusted the computer model for the lift of the Revenge. In fact the Number Three cargo hold would be packed with largest captured ground equipment, and other very large items. Stuff that might be needed by the Earthers at some time in the future, and was not going to be scrapped. This would mean that they would not have to find space for those items, among the rest of the Rag Tag fleet with the larger cargo doors. The only thing that would be off loaded from the Earth warship would the crew, fresh water, and any explosives.

That is except for ten people, which would stay on the ship for the whole lift. It would be just like they had done, when they lifted the Lucky Find up into orbit. In fact it was going to be the same crew, which had done that first and only job mission of this type. After all it was not like they were going to find anyone with more experience in this type of work out there, than them. This was not the time to train any new personnel, and the crew that had done the job before. And well? They were not going to turn down the extra pay they would get, for doing a hazardous work.

The change in lift ability, now had some of the equipment would now need to be re-loaded onto the ship. It would be the subsurface vessels and any non-explosives that was being carried or house by the escort warship. That was what was taking so long, in fact. The submarines had been off loaded before the cylons had returned, just in case they would be needed for some reason. The normal areas that would have held the sub surface attack ships, was deemed to be better used for other needs. And they were packed down deeper into the cargo holds. The loading crew used handpicked hard wood to make the packing cradles to hold those attack ships

The Cargo Hold Number Three was normally only used for high value cargo, had already been loaded about a third full. But now it was not fully loaded with everything, and the new computer models now let them for it to hold the small underwater attack craft. The ground maintenances teams had been only waiting for the load of newly made sheets of armor plate to make sure that it would be safe from the rigors of space travel. That and for the cylons to leave, before finishing that task.

Captain Kelly was in Warehouse One, which was quickly filling up with explosive shells and missiles, which were coming off his vessel for safe and protected storage. It was hopped that they would have the magazines emptied, sometime during this very night. It they weren't? Then Kelly had planned to bite the bullet. And he would give the order to off load one of the captured Colonial/Cylon trucks, to help with the movement of ammunition from ship to shore. What they were using now as a robot sized carts, that pulled by one of large combat robots. This was how they were to move the heavy, bulky, and sensitive weapons. The cart could bring up six of the largest missiles, up at a time. That number had jumped to a dozen of the smaller rockers being off loaded.

While the long ranged weapons had been fully off loaded, and put away in the building. Kelly had chosen this Warehouse to be his off ship command and control center, as well as his sleeping quarters. He could have used his old log cabin. But after second thoughts. He felt that it would delay things too much, if they needed him for anything not related to offloading of his ship.

After getting an update on the unloading operation, he had to go back to more mundane chores that needed to be done. He was rereading a note, which he had been given a few hours ago. He had read it three or four times already, and the little slip of paper had not changed one word yet. But he was still hoping it would somehow. If it did not, then he needed to come up with more plans to see if he could get out of what he was going to have to do. As he refold the slip of paper. He was thinking that he really did not need any more stress, at this point in time. About the only good news lately, was that it really did seem that the cylons where to indeed be gone from this system after all.

It seemed that the other two members of the Triumvirate, had been talked into helping out the Colonial President from a very tight political and public problem. All while they were aboard the spaceships hiding from the cylon scout, and he had "only" been sweating bullets on the planet's surface. He had been given the note, and a large cut cornered book at the same time. He was also working on reading that book a few pages at a time. Luckily the book had already been translated into English, before he had been given the copy of the four inch thick book. So it was only painful to read, verses him bashing his head on the table top as hard as he could after trying to read a few pages. And it also helped that this two amigos had marked the pages they thought were relevant.

When the door to the massive Warehouse opened, he looked up as his eyes were drawn to the movement. He was happy to see, that it was the person he had been expecting. Even if he was two hours late, and for the hundredth time. Kelly thought again, about how much he hated lawyers. You would have thought that a civilization, that could come up with interstellar travel and anti-gravity plates? That they would have done away with waist of brains, which were Lawyers. It was as those thoughts were going through his brain. That he knew that he was going to do, what he had been volen-told to. His in grained sense of duty, just make his life that much more complicated.

Romo Lampkin was Fraking mad. Like he could not remember ever being this mad before, in his whole life. He had great self-control, but now he was almost shaking in his very worn shoes. He was just that angry. He had been called to Colonial One, which now happened to be docked inside the one remaining Hangar pod of the Galactica. He was surprised that the meeting had happened on that liner, and not in one of the better equipped meeting rooms the warship had. What he was kicking himself over, was that this was not the only surprise he had been given today.

The date had been getting closer and closer, for the criminal trial of Baltar. He had already filed a brief for the charges to be dismissed against his client. Because he believed, that there was no way that they could find an impartial jury or even a judge to oversee the case. After all. Who in the whole fleet, could say that they did not know who Baltar was? Or could say that they had not been impacted directly by what he did or had said? He had been run and had been freely elected to be the leader of what was left of their people. He knew that he could make a convincing case of those facts without breaking a sweat, or using larger words.

That had after the whole fleet had jumped out of the system, but before that cylon scout had returned. He had also thought that Roslin was going to try to back out of the deal, which she had made the amateur mistake of putting in writing for him. He then would have been able to go to straight to the press. He had a real tear jerker of a speech all ready to go, about how she had broken her deal with him about the trail of his poor little client. He had been so sure that she was going to pull something like that, so he had "leaked" the whole deal to a few selected people in the press a few days ago.

He even told the a few of the more open minded people in the limited press pool, in person, what he thought was going to happen in the next few days. All while they waited to find out what the cylons were doing, or if they were in the local space. It would not be enough of the "smoke and mirror game" to get his client out of jail, free and clear. But it would be a very good start. He would have won, against a very worthy opponent. It had not turned out that way, or any other way. Which he could have, but should have predicted. That is before he walked into that fraking room.

He had walked into Laura Roslin's office so confidante, that he had won. That he had missed some clues, that now he was sure where there. He should have known something was up, but he was so sure of himself, that he had won this game. That he had walked right into a trap, she had expertly laid out for him to fall into face first. When he had entered her main office. She had been sitting behind her highly polished wood top desk, and he had this very stern look on her face. After he had taken a seat, and they had exchanged some pointed barbs back in forth. And then she had lowered the boom on him, completely out of the blue.

It had all started, when she agreed that there was going to be a problem to find enough acceptable Colonials to seat a jury or find a judge for that matter. She had even said, it would have to the ones that did not have a fixed option already made up about Batlar's guilt or innocence. At least in the list of crimes, that he had been publicly charged with. He been so into the absolute glee of the moment. That he had then pointedly asked, when she was going to throw out the charges against him. He had been gloating. And he was thankful for the sunglass he always wore, to hide it from view by anyone who might be around. That was just bad form, and it tended to make people dig in their heals about coming to a conclusion.

He had missed the Colonial part of her very sly statement. That was when she had smiled at him, and told him that leadership of the Earthers had offered to act as a set of Panel Judges for this case. He still remembered that smile every time he closed his eyes. Now that he had time. He could reflect and he realized now, that it was like one of those teeth showing predators the Earther hunted in the deep cold waters. It was a look of a shark about to eat a seal, or some other tasty bit of food left in the water.

He had been gods smacked, and was having a hard time coming back with a retort to what she had just said to him. Roslin had taken the time he had given to her by his silence, to fire another broadside into him. All while he was trying to come up with something smart to say to the first volley. She told him that if he did not like that idea? Then he might have wanted to change Baltar's plea to guilty, and she would take care of the sentencing of his client personally. The look in her eyes was pure death, the veil of Hades had just been parted for him to see into her soul.

Romo had started sweating on the spot, because he could feel the hate and heat coming off of the woman across the desk from him. It was like the was standing in front of a blow torch, or maybe in Hade's breath as it was waiting for a special soul to come his way. He now felt like his life might be in danger, something he had not felt before. At least not while working on a criminal case of any kind. He had quickly agreed to the three members of the Earthers leadership acting as a Panel of Judgment for the case. He knew that this would take a jury out of play, and let the strangers have the power of punishment over his client as well as determining his guilt or innocence. This was not ideal, by any means.

After he had left that woman's office and was safely back on the ship, which held the cabin that he now called as his home. There he had time to replay what had happened to him, in his head without any distractions. On his second go threw of the data in his memories. He had to admit that it was a very good bit of maneuvering, that she had done to him. He also could see from a certain point of view. That it was about the only way that his client would be able to get anything like a fair trial, with what was left of their people. That was not what he wanted. He just wanted to win, and guilt or innocent did not matter to him. He just wanted to win, that was why he was lawyer. He liked to win, but he sucked at every sport known to man or cylon. That had left only one job for a man like him. That was to be a defense attorney in the largest city in Colonial space.

That was now why he was back on this cold planet's surface walking towards a meeting, which he did not want to have to make. He would never admit it to anyone, not in a million years, or a after a buck of the best ambrosia. But this planet's surface was a place he did not want to be, ever again. He was of the opinion, which was secretly shared by many of the Colonials. That the cylons could come back at any second, and kill every human that was there. And it did no matter that rumors said that the Gods had spoken to Roslin. And they had told her exactly what the cylons were planning in the near future for what was left of Colonials. What if they did return? If he was not on a ship? He might get left behind, just like what almost had happened to him and most of the other civilian ships on that day. It was a common feeling or phobia, growing among the remaining Colonials. It was separation anxiety, of the first order that had been reinforced with the cylon occupation.

Romo Lampkin had been given directions were to find Captain Kelly, after he had taken a civilian shuttle craft down to the planet. It was not a surprise that he was the only one that was not connected to the military going down planet side on that craft. Now that there were a lot of Colonial ships ready to travel, and the little fleet of cargo shuttles craft crews were comfortable with the rules that were expected of them. Or maybe it was more that the Earthers were confident that those crews would, fallow the rules.

At least they had been agreed to increase the number of landing spots around the village. Besides the cargo and passenger shuttles used less fuel, than the specialized military Raptors. This increased the number of flights down to the planet's surface, and the amount of cargo lifted per craft. And the number of people who could take a day trip down to have a breeze in their faces, or go fishing was having a positive effect on the fleet. For those that could handle the experience, or for a forced school outing.

He thought that Kelly would be acting as the lead judge, of the case that Romo could not get out of now. He found the man in the long wooded walled building called Warehouse One easily enough. It was a very busy place, with Earthers in those Centurions like skins all over the place. They seemed to be moving boxes, and ink pen shaped items from carts or just in arm loads. They were coming one after the other, and all were coming from the direction of the water. They were going into the largest of the three doors that he knew building had. Romo had been in this building more than few times, while his ship had been emptied of passenger. All so that those skilled personnel could do all the work, that was needed to be done to make it safe for the coming travels.

Romo had an idea what those metal suits were carrying, and stopped to watch what was going on for a few minutes. He did not watch long before giving up, and entering the building threw a normal sized door cut into one of the two long sides of the building. He knew that he was late, and to be honest he did not care that much. He scanned the room and soon locked eyes on the tall Earther, in an odd looking uniform seated on a barstool in the about in the center of the main room. It took only a few second before the man returned the eye contact with him. Romo got the since of a bird of prey looking at dinner. For some strange reason, Romo suddenly thought and felt. That lawyer was on the menu today. " _This was just so wrong, damn those Fraking cylons!_ "

Romo squared his shoulders, and walked towards the other man across the massive room. He would prove to this Myrmidon, that he was no one's prey. He had been working on what he was going to say to this man, for some time now. As he closed those last few steps, his memory brought up few of the ones. Ones that he liked the most, to use against a few certain type of judges in the past. And he had more than a few other statements ready to go, because of those years of experience. But the rug was pulled out from under him, one more time today. When he got closer, the Captain spoke first in accented but very understand able Caprcan.

"You must be Mr. Limpkin. I understand that you have been told about the change of venue for Mr. Baltar trial?" Kelly was using every skill he knew about watching people, to study this man still a few steps way. He had seen him a few times before, and knew what he was as well as who he was. He also noticed that the cat was missing.

Romo bristled at the tone, or maybe it was the accent that the military man had just directed at him. He did not know what made him madder, but he set his tone in to condescending mode. And went onto the attack. He did it, just like he would have done back on his home planet. Which now was a radioactive wasteland.

"This is very irregular Mr. Kelly. Why do you think you're qualified to judge a Colonial, about or on some of the finer points of Colonial law? Ones that he may or may not have broken. Before or after, we ran into you and your people?" The lawyer in him, felt that he needed to push this man back into a corner as fast as he could. And he both wanted to, and needed to keep him there.

Kelly smiled, and kept his thoughts in his own mind. _"_ _So this guy wanted to have a measuring contest._ _I can do that, you jack wagon._ _I just have to make sure, that I don't do anything._ _That could give you a cause for an appeal of some kind, down the road."_

Kelly tilted his head down a little, so that he was almost looking down his nose at the other man. His voice went into his command level and his was like frozen stone. This was not the first Colonial to try to challenge him, and he knew it would not be last.

"First off, it is not Mister. I am called Captain Kelly. I am the master of a seventeen thousand ton warship, and I am addressed as such. Just like you would do for a Colonial Commander of a like sized ship".

Kelly stopped talking for a few seconds, and he could tell that he had just thrown this man off of his pre-planned game. Now with this opening, he went back to his original plan. "I and the other two leader of our group, have been studying your laws for some time now."

Kelly's left hand tapped a cut corner book on this massive wooden desk, which had taken over while all the work was going on aboard his ship. It did not take the other man long, to figure out what type of book it was even without being able to see the spin or cover of the thick volume.

"I think you would be surprised how close your civil laws, are to ours back home. I know that I was surprised, by that little fact of life. Now, what I need to know from you and your client, is one particular thing."

Before he could finishes his statement. Romo jumped in and interrupted the Captain, with as much of a condescending tone as he could muster. It was not that much, but it was enough. "Oh, and Captain Kelly what might that be?

Kelly did not raise to the bait, but he gave the other man a gaze that would have sent most people fast walking away from him. "I was about to tell you, until you interrupted me. That is what type of trial, do you want him to have. You have two options under the law, as we understand them for your people. We can have a trail of your peers, but do you think we would find thirteen people who don't have an ax to grind against your client in some way. And it will also have to be made up of one person from each of the Colonies and one from my people." Kelly was studying the lawyer, like he was selling him a used hover bike. He also wanted to let the little man know that he had read a lot of the law book, that he had been given.

Romo could not help but cringe at the thought of trying to do something like a jury selection. He had been hoping that was the way Roslin was going to try to do things. But the way that this Man had just phrased things? It had made it, so that he would not have those grounds for appeal now. That was a very smart move, on the Earthers part, to know that very odd and well-hidden rule. The odds of that happening were long, and if two lawyers could not agree on the jury make up. Well then a single judge would be able to pass a verdict, all with needing any input from a jury or witness. It was a very old law and one that had not been used in a few hundred years, but had never been removed from the law books.

Romo had an idea what the other option was, but he wanted the other man to say it out loud. When he spoke it, then it would it could be part of the official record. And with half a hundred witness and recordings from any of the metal suits, that could be used later. He was already looking for any angel or lever he could or even might have in the future. He was waiting, and then he realized that Kelly was waiting on him to say something.

"What is the other option?" Romo was surprised at the tone, which came out of his mouth. It sound like he really cared for what was about to be said, and how it would affect his client. That was a shock, for the lawyer.

Kelly smiled and it was a cold smile. It was more in common with one of the massive sharks, than a would-be normal for a judge to use. "We set the Triumvirate up as a panel of judges for this case."

Kelly did an odd little head tilt, and then continued talking. He could tell that the Lawyer was on his back foot. "I thought your President, would have told you this before you came down? The rules for something like this are very similar, to what we had already set up for our people. So we are already used to working that way, in a law setting."

Kelly tilted his head to the other side and studied the other man. "So, how do you want to proceed?"

Romo had his court face back on, now. He had been listening to what the Earther had said, but he was able to get his feet back under himself at the same time _._ _"_ _Frak I was afraid of that!_ _I was hoping that they would just throw the case out._ _At least I can get one appeal on this no matter what way it might break._ _It might not be that great of an appeal, but I should be able to use the press to get one at least one appeal out of this mess."_ He know that legally, he was not going to get an appeal because of the Panel. He was counting on that because the judges were Earth born and not Colonial, to feed the fire of the press. That was going to be harder with a three panel judge set up, but not outright impossible.

Romo started to nod his head up and down. "I think we will try the Panel option, Captain." He was already looking at ways that he still might win this case, in front of these men.

Kelly did not smile this time. "That was the way, which I thought you might want to go down. Do you think you can get your client to agree to this?" Kelly had a smile under his non-moving face. He was recording this entire meeting. He hoped he would not need it. But he thought that this person, might try to bend how things might play out in the court of public opinion among the Colonials. If he had to? Kelly would release this recording in the raw form, and let the chips fall where they may.

Romo smiled a smile, which did not reach his eyes. "Yes, and I will tell him both options that he has. And I will cover the pros and cons of each of them. Baltar is a smart man, but like many people that are smart in one area of the world. They can be difficult, when it comes to understanding anything related to criminal law proceedings. I will let you know in twelve hours, if he does not agree with me. Deal?"

Kelly gave the lawyer a tight lip look, but that was the only movement of his face. "Deal. We will be lifting my ship in two days. My XO will be taking care of the ship's movements. But I don't want to have other things on my plate, when that bit of work is going on. We also were looking at using the Battlestar Galactcia's pilot briefing room for the stand in, as the court room for this case. Do you have a problem with the venue, as I have described it? Will you be ready in three days to start the trial of Mr. Baltar? That is if your client, agrees to have a Panel of Judges handle his case. If he chooses a jury trial instead? That is when we will start working out those details, after my ship is attached to the Colonial Flagship."

Romo was on the defensive, and he did not like it one little bit. But he had just found out, that as it turned out. He had very few cards to play, today. He could tell that something was going on. Maybe on more than one level, but this man's accent was throwing him off of his game. He tired one more time to clarify something. It was a shoot in the dark.

"I will have to talk to my client as soon as I can. Is the same deadline okay, no matter what option he chooses?"

Kelly had a poker face still on, and put his finger to his ear. That was when the lawyer realized the Captain had an ear bud in while he had been talking to him. This was a major breach of legal protocol…..for a judge. And Romo was about to bring it up, when Kelly looked back at him. The look on Kelly's face was one, which the lawyer did not want to push just yet. Something had changed. Romo was trying to figure out if it was related to him or maybe his client.

"Can do, Mr. Limpkin. Please contact my staff, if there any questions. I'm sorry, but I have to cut this meeting shorter than I you had planned for since you were late. I have a nuclear weapon and a super fireball warhead weapon, that are about to come in to the building. And I don't want them to dropping them when on the floor when they come through the door, this time."

Kelly starting to look around the man, and he was getting ready to turn and leave the lawyer behind. He needed to be ready to deal with a very real problem, that was about to come through the door of his office/living space.

Romo had no idea if the other man was joking or not, but he had to admit that it was a Fraking good way to end an uncomfortable meeting. They each exchanged some meaningless pleasantries, and the lawyer left the massive hard wood table at the quick step. As he was leaving out the small door, he could see a metal clad man with a wolf's head came to a stop outside. It had been pulling a homemade wagon with pencil shaped objects, which Romo now thought might be anti-shipping missiles the Earther had been talking about. He got a sharp chill running down his back, as he thought about someone dropping one of those destructive devices, and the warhead that had just been described to him. He quickly decided that he wanted to be as far from the weapons, as he could get. And he wanted to do it as quickly as he could, pride can be Fraked. When it came to someone dropping a nuclear weapon, pride had no place. He was almost running by the time he passes the first large tree on his way back to the small craft landing pads.

As it turned out Kelly would not be able to watch his ship being lift from the gray water bay. Most of the Colonial built anti-gravity plates had been installed on the ship, before the Colonial Fleet had left while the cylons did there quick scouting mission. But they had not had the time to run any tests on them. When the first of those delayed tests were run on those plates, it had blown out a lot of the supporting power system.

Those support systems on the ship had just not been designed to handle that kind of energy load, much less for that length of time. Special wiring had to be run threw out some sections of the ship to support the modification of the gravity plates had made to the ship. The new trial date had been set, and it would not be changed. That was because it had been announced to the whole fleet. And the press would have been able to use the delay, to beat both the Earther leadership and the Colonial ones with same bat.

 **The Trial of Baltar**

Baltar and his lawyer were waiting in the metal corridor of the Battlestar, but each one had their own way of dealing with the stressful situation they were in. Both men were dressed in their best cloths out of a limited closet. It would be said during interviews with small groups on the different ships. That both men were some of the best dressed people in the whole fleet, still after these last few years of hardship. That was not a good thing, in the court of public opinion.

Limpkin had on his dark sunglass that he was rarely seen without public. He was clam, and in his lawyer zone. He was just waiting, for the next big game to begin for him. He was calm on the outside, for all the world to see. But his heart was beating faster, and he breathing was a little off from normal. He was excited about what was about to start, this was his sport. One that he had not been able to play to his fullest level in way to long. He even had the cat in its carrier sitting on the deck at his feet. It was a prop to push the judges, and make them seem overly harsh.

Baltar was pacing and mumbling to himself, as he passed the few other people in the metal corridor with him. Basically he looked and was acting like your average crazy person, again. But at least this time, he was on this side of sober. The time in the Colonial Brig had not allowed him access to anything that was hardened than flavored water. Limpkin was used to the waiting in situation like this, and it was just part of the job you had to learn to deal with.

Romo looked at one of the most painful clients, which he had ever had to defend in his life. And that was some list of clients, which were a pain in the neck to work with. Not for the first time today, he wished he could gag his client. And he was not talking about the legal term of gaging someone. He was thinking that he had the prefect set of old under wear, which would do the job. But that was out of the question, and he knew it. That did not mean that he day dreamed about doing something like that to Baltar every hour or so.

If he was getting paid his normal hourly rate, he might have been more incline to deal with him. Because then he could just raise his hourly rates that he was charging, and also pad a few extra hours on the worst days when he felt like it. Money had a way of making it easier to deal with people, who were a pain to work with. It was just unfortunate that this was no longer an option for him, to use to cope with this problem child.

Baltar was wearing the best suite he had access to. He had used his office as President to gain access to anything he had wanted before he had his fall from grace. So when he had seen this suit, in the extra luggage collection area? He had taken it, to expand his wardrobe just a little more. Only one person had said anything to him about it, and the other items he had taken from across the New Caprica area.

Baltar had dismissed the claim with a counter claim, and the other person had backed down just as he should have. With the cylons standing behind him. That had made sure that the subject was quickly dropped, and not brought up with in ear shot of him again. He was not normally a worrier by nature or psyche. But now he was very worried, about what his future might or might not hold for him. It did not help that the blonde cylon, that only he could see, was riding him again. And it was not like way he had grown accustomed to before, the cylon surprise attack. He was trying to quite the voice in his head down, but it was not helping no matter what he tried. It anything it seemed to only make them get louder, and even more distracting for him to have to deal with. Until today, he had not thought that was even possible.

The Number Six cylon in the Red dress was propped up seductively against the metal wall off to his right side. She was rubbing one leg over the other, and was watching Balter as he paced around the corridor. She had a sly and sexy grin on her face, and her voice oozed sexy like slime from a snail ass. That she was saying, was not sexy in the least.

"They are going to kill you, Gaius. You need to run. The Earthers don't care what you were back on Caprica. You're just a collaborator, like any other. Well, that is not true exactly true now is it? You are just a bit higher profile of a collaborator, which anyone in the history of your people has been. Or would that make you just another traitor? Do you think they have found out about what you did before my people came again? Run Gaius, Run." Now she laughs hysterically, at what she had said.

Baltar looked around the hallway of the old warship again, but his Lawyer. Who seemed to be sleeping on the bench against the hallway bulkhead? He seemed oblivious to what his client was doing. He vented at the woman in the red dress, and he spoke aloud to her. He had not done that in years. He had done nothing to hide any medical reports that said most of the survivors of the Colonies were a little on the mental off side of the normal.

"Would you shut the Frak up? I need to think, and you're are not Fraking helping at all. They are just a bunch of barbarians. That Adama and Roslin have been exaggerating about everything they have been selling about them. All to make everyone believe that they might be some kind of saviors of what is left of mankind."

Baltar now was storming up and down the corridor as he talked to himself. He was even starting to wave his arms around him, as he spoke out loud to the cylon in his own mind. "What gives them the right to judge me anyway? They don't even have the basic fraking knowledge, to reach orbit of this mud ball. Much less on how to build anything. There ships are water bound of all things for Frak sakes. I can get out of this, if you just let me think!" His voice had been rising in volume, and he had no idea how far it was carrying down the metal tube of a corridor. Then again, if he had known? Would he have carried about it? Probably not.

The sexy cylon gave Baltar a big smile, and then it did a little twitch at one corner of her color red lips. "Don't underestimate them Baltar. Or you will not live to regret it. You need to run away, and find some way to hide on the planet. You just have to hope and pray, that the Ones don't shot you on sight when they find you. Those barbarians took out three full cylon regiments, in a single full day. That is something you Colonial military could not do. At least not without using an orbital bombardment, like we did to your kind."

She could see that her words had struck home that time. She made a fake pouting face, to the only person that could see her. She used a voice that was normally used to a young child, which had been caught doing something it had been told not to do.

"What's wrong Gaius? You didn't think that there would be consequences, for what you've done in your life? The one god will not be the only one to hear your sins in the near future, I think. Run Baltar, Run. You are in so far over your head, that you do not realized it. Run!" She had shouted the last word, as her back came off of the metal corridor wall.

Baltar looked away from the cylon popped off from the metal wall and standing almost in the middle of the access way, that only he could see, when the heavy metal hatch finally swung opened. Baltar's eyes were drawn to the movement of a too young military officer, who had opened the device and stepped through hatch into the hall way.

In a high pitched voice. The young man did his duty, which was given to the lowest ranked officer in the fleet by tradition common on both worlds. It was also a tradition that Kelly and Adama had thought it was a good one to keep around. This person was so new to the Colonial Fleet. That he had not been close to legal age to join the Military, when the cylons attacked. Now all of that had changed for the humans. It is hard to say, not to arm kids, when the enemy is killing your kids.

"The accused and advocate, both may enter the chamber." The young cadet officer stepped forward, so that the two people in question could enter the converted pilot briefing room behind him with ease. Even at the age of only fifteen and half. He had already mastered the look of contempt, and he shot that look at the one time elected president of his people. He was not one of Baltar's limited fan base, not even close.

The two civilians stood up straighter and enter the rectangle room, which would decide the fate of one of them in the near future. It was darker than it normally was, to do pilots and other high profile briefings. This light setting had been directed to be done exactly like this, by Max. He had said, that he had wanted to set the right mood for the legal proceedings. The back wall, which also held the hatch the two men entered, was occupied by one set of cameras and their supporting press personnel. They also gave an area up for a group for the reports that had been drawn by lots, on who would record and witness this event for the Colonial records.

Along the far wall was a long raised wooden court pulpit, which must have been made from some kind of dark stained thick wood. Limpkin bet that the massive and imposing looking wood structure was not part of any Colonial Fleet's ships stock, at the start of run from Colonial space. In other words. It had to have been built by the Earthers, from materials they had brought up from the planet below. If it had been built back in the Colonies, it would have cost as much as a Viper did new off the line. Romo was betting that even the Cloud 9 main sealing chapel, did not have something like that with in its walls

Between Baltar and the Judges wooden pulpit, was a match pair of smaller wooden desk that had an equally dark stain applied to them. The whole set up looked to have come right out of one of the more popular crime drama shows from before the war. One seat on the desk to the far right was already occupied by the Elder Adama, and the other seat was filled by Didi Cassidy. Bill had turned slightly and was facing the Ex-president of the Colonies, as he entered the room. Romo knew that those two were be the prosecution for this case.

Baltar and Limpkin took their seats at the other, but empty desk. And Limpkin opened his well-worn brief case. He stared to pull out the props, which were the stock and trade of the Lawyer in this setting. Romo was watching the older Adama out of the corner of his eye, as he was setting up his props on what he admitted was a very nice wooden desk. It was another useful trick, which he had learned while practicing law in his early years. He doubted either of the other two know how to use that trick effectively.

Bill Adama was not preforming the same functions, as Limpkin was doing. He did not feel that he needed what, he had always thought of, as were props that Lawyers used. The older Military officer was watching him, and he intended to show that he was not trying to be sly about it. Bill had the basic rules of this down. And it had only taken a few class before he had mastered them better than his teacher, Dibi.

Romo was not sure how he felt about that turn of events. Going head to head against the older Adama was going to be very challenging. And it was also going to be very different from any other lawyer, he had gone against in his career. After putting out the props and setting them up the way he like them, Limpkin turned, and faced older man eye to eye. It was non old fashion stare down, across the walkway between the two desks holding the legal minds. It did not take long before Limpkin was about to lose the contest, and he knew it. But he was saved by the bell at the last possible second of the contest. Literally.

While the two were measuring each other up. The young officer fresh out of Viper physical training, struck an old style brass ship's bell that had come from the Luck Find to this temporary location. The three men and one woman stood, and faced the massive wooded pulpit by the second slow strike of the golden device. And on the third struck of the bronze bell, three men additionally entered the room from a side door that had been covered by a thin black curtain. It was all very formal, and by the book. Even if it was an old one.

The three men were dresses unlike any judge the four people below them, had ever seen in any Colonial court room. Either in person, or on an entertainment show of any kind. It had been the Earther custom, which said, that the Judges should be someone of the people. In other words they should just an average Joe of the area. So they should look like they were of the people, and they should be dressed accordingly. At least while in the role of the judge, in any kind of legal criminal case.

That means that they were dressed in denim pants and colored T-shirt, but all neat and not worn looking in the least way. It would make dealing with the heat in the warm Battlestar a lot better. Than say the full navel dress uniform of Adama, and the layers of the thick three layered suits that Limpkin and Baltar were wearing for the trial. Well that was just an added bonus for the Judges in the current case, which they were to sit on. To top it all off, it was very comfortable to wear.

The trial would be done in three parts, before the judgment would give out. The Defense would present its case, than the Prosecution would offer its side of the case, the last part would be the Judges asking questions to both sides. It was very military, and a throwbacks to a time before the Colonies were united under one flag and elected leadership. But it was old hat for the three Earthers that sitting as the judges.

From the morning to the noon meal time, was taken up with opening statements from all three groups. The judges part was to make sure that each side knew the exact rules of what was about to take place. Limpkin felt that he had given a better opening statement, than the older Adama had today. He could tell that the older Adama, was not that well versed in the various ways to make an impression using the opening statement. But Bill Adama was after all, only a combat officer. And he had not been trained in even the basics, of being a proper Lawyer much less having the years of experience that he had.

When it was time for the meal, a guard took Baltar to one of the warship's holding Cells. This would be where he would stay, when he was not in front of the judges. That is until this trial was over. After that? Who knew? This cell was not an unknown location for Baltar, but he would never call it homey or conferrable. After all it was the brig of this ship. It was cleaner, if not nicer than the one on the prison ship he had been assigned. After he had been captured in his own bed.

Limpkin spent the time between the noon meal, and the break before the evening meal, using the information he had been under the Colonial Discovery laws. He used this data to launch an all-out attack on multiple points, which Limpkin thought Adama would focus on when he had the chance. It was a preemptive attack. He did not know, if the Admiral was prepared for this case or not. It was his job to make it as hard for him, as a defense lawyer could. Bill and Dibi had not said but a hand full of words the whole afternoon. And that was not enough to give Romo an idea of what they were thinking or planning. Much less give him an idea of the lines of attack, which they were going to use against his client.

The panel of Judges just listened, and took the odd note on little computers in front of each of them. Romo Limpkin was very happy with himself, as he petting the cat he hated so much on the head at the end of the day. He had two or three more cards to play, when the trial started up again in the morning. He could have wrapped up his part of the trial already, but he wanted part of the second day to support his case. It was just to reinforce his case in the eyes of the both the Judges, and the Defense team. In his heart and mind. He knew that Baltar was guilty of every charge that had been laid out against, and maybe a few more besides that long list. But the laws required him to have the best defense possible, no matter what someone might have done.

Romo did not have any issues about helping this scum bag get away with everything. After all, it was not his fault that the other side was not as good as he was. That was just how the game was play in his world, and he soooo liked to win. The crazy part would be that he would sleep like a baby, even after he got the worst criminals known to man off scot free. Baltar would be no different than any of the other clients he had represented in court over the last two and a half decades.

The second day started the same as the first, and it went exactly as Limpkin had thought it would in the days before the trial had started. He made sure to reinforce his points from the day before, when he had started his part of the end game. He kept trying to play up, that Baltar had been only trying to keep the evil and manipulating cylons. Those same cylons, which were trying to kill every human on the planet. He had only been fallowing the orders he had been given. But only fallow them as loosely as he could get away with. Romo was trying to drag things out, till it was close enough to the time of the noon meal that Adama would not be able to start his case.

That was when it had started to come apart for him. He was so sure, that he had won over the three judges. That he was shocked at the turn of events. For the first time, one the judges step into the case preceding, and asked if there was a reason he was dragging things out so much. Romo had been busted, so he had to quickly wrap up, and settled his arguments. His ending, had ended up being a lot faster, than he had wanted to or had planned for to be. He did not think, that he had left anything out. But he knew after he had taken his seat, that he was not sure of that or not. He had reacted, instead of acted, this was a sin in a lawyer's playbook.

Romo then turned it over to the Admiral, for his turn to present his point of view of the facts of the case. Adama brought up everything that Limpkin had thought he would. And he did them in almost in the exact same order that he had counter against those points of view, when he had been presenting the case. The shoe dropped on him and Baltar not long after that.

The next big surprises, was that Bill Adama used a lot of information and testimony supplied by the cylons blocked memories and data files. Romo had seen all of the news reports, which had said that a few of the human forms had been found to have had memory blocks. They seemed to have been put in by the Number Ones. And that was as far as Romo had looked into the issue. It would seem that after the blocks were removed. The cylon had access to a lot of data from there lines past lives. Limpkin had not thought that the old warhorse would trust anything, which the cylons said or reported to have been pulled out of their heads. That was very disturbing.

After a few missteps, Limpkin had object a lot to this information. Then he launched an attack each cylon type in no certain order. He had tried to make so that it seemed that anything they said, was not to be trusted by real people. And that the data or memories, could have been faked somehow. Limpkin was very good at reading body language. And he was seeing that all three of the judges looked to be buying, what he was selling them again. That was something else that Romo was kicking himself for, and not be better prepared to fight that line of attack the Admiral had used. He also had not known about the depth of information about what Baltar had done to the human race. He had even heard the press person in the back of the room gasp out loud, when the information about the CNP program was released in the court room. It also showed that Baltar had known what one of the human forms cylons had looked like, as well as knowing that they existed in the first place before anyone else. All of that information that could have saved tens of thousands, if not millions of human lives. This made for a very long rest of the day for both men.

The trial did not start up at the normal time the next day. They had finally been able to lift the Earther warship out of the water, and into orbit near the flagship after more than a few delays. With the danger of so much mass, moving close together, and one of them only just considered semi guided. It had been decided that all nonessential personnel would be put in protective suits, and locked down in secure room or cabins.

This was just in case something very bad happened. And the massive, but very old Battlestar took damage and lost its airtight ability due to the damage of the two ships hitting each other. It had been Limpkins idea, but only after hearing some of the younger crewmembers talking in the mess hall over the dinner meal. They had been talking in great detail, about the dangers of what they were going to try to do the next day. The young spacers seemed very concerned for their safety.

Romo Limpkin had not at all like the idea, of trying to learn how to breathe in space without the help of a good spacesuit. That is, if the worst case ended up happening. When he brought this issue up, during the start of the trials day? Baltar turned very pale, and for a short time. He had not been able to speak, and that was a good thing in Romo's book. It was just too bad that he did regain is voice again, not long after another "witness" had gained the stands at the restart of the trial. Then again maybe it was good timing on Baltar's part. He was very smart man, after all.

Baltar had started yelling at the top of his lungs, waving his arms and he had come flying out his seat. He was saying that it was their plan along, and that Adama and Roslin were trying to kill him. He also said that the pair were going to ram the Earth made ship into the side of the Battlestar to do it, if they had to. Romo was almost to the point, of going ahead and asking the judges to sedate his client for the rest of the trial. Then again, he thought that he might be able to use this outburst to help in any appeal for his case. If he might need to, after this trial. Romo made a note to check with the camera crew, so that he could get a copy of that little outburst for his own use.

Adama had not been against the idea personnel of delaying the trial, but he still argued against the both requests made by the other lawyer. He knew that his crew could do their jobs, without him looking over their shoulders. But it would not have been a good day for him to be able to just think about the case, and have nothing to do with the moving and attaching of the Earth ship. A Battlestar commander were sometimes called control freaks, but only behind their backs. Bill was just better at hiding it than most of his peers.

Captain Kelly had to keep his poker face on, while the only person with any training as a lawyer asked for a delay. He also trusted his crew, but that ship was his whole life. If anything happened to damage his ship, while he was stuck supporting this Trial? It would be harder than it should be. So everyone agree to the delay, after the Admiral had made a halfhearted argument not to take a break. The Admiral did make sure that everyone had a suit to protect them, in case they did have air problems. Kelly would feel a little guilty in the fallowing weeks about the delay, he had agreed to. But he really wanted to see his ship docked, and secured to the space going monster of a warship. He never looked forward to the press conference later, fearing that someone would ask him about that delay. It was not every day that you got to see what was about to happen.

So as it turned out. The two Captains were able to watch, as for the only second time. That any of them knew about, anyway. An ocean going only ship, was attached to a spaceship in orbit. This lift went exactly like the first lift had, and after a few hours. The Earth made warship was attached with temporary lines and welds to the Colonial Flagship. The final lining up the Revenge was a different matter, than the Lucky Find had been. But it turned out they were able to get it done a lot quicker, than they had been able to do the first time that they had tried this operation. It also was the most watched of the two lifts, of Earth made ship. This last move, would be one of the key miles stone. Ones that had to be done, since they had decided they would need to leave this planet.

The Lucky Find had been attached with the red painted hull facing out toward space, and the supper structure snuggled in next to the battered hull of the old Battlestar. The warship was going to be facing the opposite direction. This was so that the superstructure, weapons, and more importantly her fire control systems all could be used to help cover that exposed side of the old warship. The top decks of this ship, also were more heavily armored than the water hidden hull had been. And that was saying something about the thickness of armor plates. This new armored blob could not take the damage that the now lost hanger pod could take. But it could take a few heavy conventional explosive hits from any Cylon anti Battlestar weapons. And it could deal out a lot more pain, than that area could before. This was a tradeoff that the Admiral was willing to take, for now. She was not an egg armed with a few sledgehammers, but for now she was the weakest part of the ship. At least in the armor department.

The propulsion unit in the aft of the Revenge would be put right up against, the freshly cut and now very flat aft end of the Lucky Find. The sharp bow of the Revenge would end up being angled out a little, and it would slide up and over part of the warship's massive hull. It would end up covering the first few feet of the massive engine housing, which made up most of the aft part of the old Battlestar. This would clean up the ragged looking lines at this old Battlestar had seemed to have with the loss of the one hangar pod.

With the two Earther ships now mounted aft to aft. The access points to the Earth ship, would be threw three access hatches on each side of the ship. In the past those hatched had been used for small craft access. At least when the ship was away from a proper sized dock, and in any clear water channel. A triple layer of armor plate, would be slowly added to cover the connecting personnel access tubes to the Battlestar. But since they already had been built with integrated airlock systems, if something happened to the connecting tubes? Then neither ship would be hurt too badly, by the unexpected event. I would suck for anyone caught in the tubes at the time of decompression, but it would not affect both parts of the warships ability to fight and attack something in the local area.

When Adama was sure that there was not any chance of damage to his ship? He sounded the alert to stand down from battle station and for everyone to return to "normal" operations. Everyone had time to eat the hot noonday meal, before they started the trial up again. In the room that everyone was coming to dread, even the crew of the Battlestar. It was going to be a late night. The Judges wanted to spend at least seven hours a day in the main courtroom.

The three Judges had been working deep into each night of the trial. They were reviewing testimony, exhibits, and evidence that had been submitted in the case. The three of them had worked out about a dozen questions already, which would be asked to both sides when the time was right. A lot of effort had been made by the Earthers, to limit what any armchair judges. Which the media in the courtroom were feeding, from getting an idea on how they might be leaning on the case at any time because of the asked question. The group of three did not have to be briefed, that the Press was having a feeding frenzy over the trial. The press were taking every little bit of data that was coming out of the courtroom, and analyzing it to death almost on an hourly basses.

Adam rested his case in the first hour of returning from the noon meal, the next day. The questions asked by the three judges? Well, that took the rest of the afternoon shift, and even delayed dinner by an hour. All while one side or the other answered the questions given out by the panel of Judges.

Kelly had the most experience in this type of event, so he had been voted to be the lead judge for this case almost from day one. After all of the questions had been asked, and answered to the satisfaction of the panel of Judges. Captain Kelly rose from behind the imposing wooded walled pulpit, and walked over to the ship's bell. He struck the bronze bell three times, and then turned to face both Prosecution and Defense desks.

Kelly used his command voice as he address. "We will be in Deliberation. You all will be called when we have reached a decision, or if we need clarification on any given topic."

Then the three judges walked out of the room in a single file line, and without saying another word to anyone in the room. They would wait until Adama, Limpkin, and Baltar had left the main court room before they could start those deliberation. They would use the improvised courtroom to decide Baltar's fate, and not this smaller side room. It was a matter of sound proofing, the Viper briefing was setup so that no one could eavesdrop, or that the pilots could rest in a quite spot between missions. The other room was not sound proofed in any way, shape or form.

The first item they had to address was a motion from Baltar's lawyer. It was asking that he be let out of his detention cell, while the Judges deliberated his case. All three of them said a flat out, Frak no! They thought that he needed to stay in the cell, just as the law required him to do in a case with this level of crimes. A very politically worded note was hand written, and passed to the too young officer standing in the Judge's side room. He would walk it to the correct cabin, and pass the note along to Baltar's lawyer without having read it. It would be up to Romo, if he wanted to let the press know about his very public request being denied.

Now it was time to dig into the hard part of the job, that two of the three of them had volunteered for. They worked together for the next eight hours before going to their cabins for some much need sleep, if not relaxation. They would return to working very early the next day, and were met at the exit of their temporary cabins by a wall reporters for the press. At least one person had been by each door, as soon as they had called it a night. All three men, were fallowed all the way to the repurpose briefing room. The rate of questions being asked to them, was at the rate of about one every three steps or so. The number of answered questions? That number was zero.

After they were able to get some food, and recover from the press attack. They came to decision on the case in a few hours, after the morning meal time was closed for the rest of the ship. It took longer, to come up with the right wording. That was for a short press release, saying that they would be announced the verdict one hour after the noon meal.

This started rumors running through the fleet, faster than a jump drive could move a ship threw space. The Earther Judges had all of the paperwork done, and tuned in well before the press started to get wound up. All the trio had to do, was give the release to the Colonial news single court representative. The three of them used the spot of time after the press release, and the recall time to relax a little and watch the colonial equivalent to TV. The three of them had made a point not to watch any news or talk shows while they were sitting on this case. As a rule, they all tried to not watch any show on the device, which was even remotely work related.

They had more than a few laughs, as they waited and watched the local new shows react to the day's events. When Laura Roslin had been giving an update briefing on Colonial One, she had been bombarded with some off the wall questions. Almost all of them had been on what the verdict might be, and other questions about the case. They had not even taken notes on what she had been talking about, before the press pool had started asking question the case.

It seemed hard for them to grasp, that both she and the Admiral, had no idea what the verdict might or might not be. She was getting mad, and at one point flat out asked one reporter how the Frak would she know, what a sentence might be on a criminal case. This had started a whole other round of questions, about the case and what she thought about how it had gone so far. Soon after she ended the briefing and walked away. And the press pool was still asking the same questions, if re phrased to her back about the case.

This gave the three Judges an idea, which made three men almost giggle. They sent a formal message to the press, and The Colonial leadership. It was that they wanted an official senior representative from the Colonial Government to be there, at the start of meeting to receive the official verdict in person. They knew that Bill Adama would be there. But the Earthers thought it would be a good idea now, to have the Colonial Leader there to officially receive a copy of the verdict and a copy of the sentencing paperwork. This would help prove that she had been kept in the dark about what was going on, just like the press had been. And it was the way that all Colonial court case were supposed to have been handle, but seldom were.

When the three had finished there noon meal, that was delivered to the converted briefing room. They dressed for the part, which they would be playing in the upcoming public drama. Then they let the kid know to sound the bells, to let everyone in the next room know it was about to start. When the third stick of the bell was hit? The three men reentered the improvised court room, with stone like faces. The room was packed, standing room only, from the lawyer's desks all the way back to wall that had held the cameras and press during the trial. The rest of room that would have seated over forty pilots and there gear, was filled with the press corps.

Where there had been only one news crew during the whole case? Now they had over a dozen people and various forms of recording and transmitting equipment, were taking up a huge amount of space. Also present, beside the added press, were Bill Adama, Didi Cassidy, Limpkin, and Baltar. And also there was Laure Roslin, and her right hand. The human from cylon Tory Foster. Lee Adama had wanted to be there, but they needed one warship commander on duty at all times. Just in case something unplanned happened in the local area, again.

The newest addition, beside the above was directed by Bill Adama, after he had seen the number of people in the "press" that demanded to attend the ruling. This was in the form of four of the largest marines out fitted in full body armor, and with crowd control weapons hooked onto their belts. They were there to keep a lid on things, but also to take charge of the prisoner. That is if things went the way the Admiral thought they might. He felt that he had blown the doors off of Baltar's case a few time, and he felt that he had defended his points of view successfully.

When the three Judges had taken their seats, the rest of the room also sat down. All except for the young officer near the old ship's bell. He would not and had not sat down, during the whole proceeding that he had been chosen to take part in. Kelly looked around the room, and then directly at Baltar. He pulled out a half dozen sheets of paper that had been folded up and held in his top left shirt pocket.

"We have come to a decision Mr. Baltar. Where we come from, it is customary for the defendant to stand to receive Judgment for their actions. We understand that is not your people's custom, but we do require that you stay awake."

Kelly was looking levelly at the one time President. This caused some of the people in the press area to chuckle, but Kelly did not think it was funny. He had almost gone old school navy on the defendant, twice.

Several times during the trial, Baltar had fallen asleep. And Romo had to wake him up, with a sharp poke to the ribs. At least when the snoring got loud enough, to carry all the way to the Judges table. Or he could have only done it, when snoring started to bother Romo. Baltar looked around, after he heard the chuckling directed at him. He even turned a little red, after a few seconds. But he still stood and clasped his hands together, low and in front him. To his surprises his Lawyer stood beside him, and mimicked the same jester. This had been the first time that Baltar could remembering his lawyer doing any such thing.

Kelly opened a folder, which he had left in to room. He unfolded the tri folded heavy paper sheet, from his pocket. Then he possessed the whole package to the young officer standing to the opposite side of the deck from him. The young officer then took the folder covered sheets to the current president of the Colonies of Kobal. Roslin opened the folded sheet of paper to read the words written on it. The outer folder would keep anyone else from seeing it. The computer printed sheet had both English and Caprican parts, printed on the heavy grade paper. It covered the minimum information required, by law for it to have, and not a word more. The three men that made up the Panel knew enough about lawyers, to know that the more you say? The more they can try to twist it, any way that they want to.

Laure took first a sharp and then a deeper breath, as she read the words on the sheet. But she quickly folded the page back up, so that no one else could read the sheets from over her shoulder. She looked at the lead judge, and gave a short nod of her head before speaking to the rest of the court room. Her heart was beating so hard, she thought that she could feel her blouse moving in rhyme to its pounding in her chest.

"I have read your verdict. Do all of the Judges on the Panel agree to his, under the eyes of the Gods?" Troy had to look up these few lines, just in the last few hours. They were from a very early period of the Colonials when it was normal for a judge to be both judge and jury on a case.

Kelly nodded, and then looked to his left to the only non-captain on the panel. He was also the youngest member of the judge's panel and he gave him a hand signal. This was part of the preceding that were totally under Colonial rules. On Earth it would have been the lead judge that would do almost all of the communication.

"Yes madam President, we do," was his reply to her statement from Max.

Max took a deep breath and went into voice projection mode. He did not want anyone to say that he had been timid, or that someone in the back might not be able to hear every word that was about to be said.

"We find the defendant, before us. Guilty on all counts of treason and genocide. He was not trying to protect anyone, but his own hide."

Max did not notice, but it was recorded, that with every word that came out of his mouth. He had tap the desk in front of him with is index finger, to add force to the words he spoke.

Baltar looked like he had been punched in the genitals, by a runaway spaceship. He fell back into the wooden chair with a crash. He looked up first to his lawyer, and then back to the panel of men from Earth in there oddly styled clothes. Then he started sputtering, and rose from his chair. He had fire in his eyes, and he was not going to take this any longer. One part of his mind knew what the penalties were for each of the crimes he had just been convicted of.

"But they made me do it. I had no choices. It's not my fault! I was just fallowing orders! You can't do this to me! Do you know who I am?" By the time he had the last statement out of his mouth, he had sealed his own fate. He was yelling and latterly foaming at the mouth, like a crazy person on some kind of drug. Only he was not. And it was being transmitted fleet wide, every word and action that he was preforming.

When Baltar shot up to his feet, his lawyer took his own seat. It was better, than an uncontrolled fall into the pad part of the wooden device. Limpkin but his head down on the desk top, and again wish that he could have gaged Baltar. If only so that he would not make things worse, than they already were for his fraked up client. He had lost this game.

Interrupting a Colonial sitting judge, while they were giving a verdict was very uncouth. Even in the wildest parts of the Colonies, it was looked down on. And under Colonial common law? It could have some very painful blowback. If they so choose to do so, against the perpetrator. Romo was just glad he would not be in the firing lines, if they decided to react to Baltars outburst. By law they could add him to the blowback, because he could not control his client.

Max stops talking, and looked at Baltar with a level gaze. Kelly knew the Colonial law, which Baltar had just not just crossed but stomped all over. And he could tell that the man did not care one bit, that he had done so. Max was holding on to the thick edge of the desk, to help keep himself under control. It kind of worked, and it kind of did not.

"Mr. Baltar, I did not believe you. If Admiral Adama had more proof about your actions while on our planet? I would have voted guilty on more counts of the lower charges, than I did. You Mr. Baltar, are a coward. And you exhibit all of the worst, which it means to be human. To be frank, you make my skin crawl. Your story should be written down, and told to kids. All as an example, of what not to do in real life as tale of caution. I fear that your name will be handed down threw out history as one of the most vial person in the long history of our race"

The tone was dry, ice cold, and even the press people were shaken by its delivery. Most of the press shows had pointed out many times. That Max was the easiest going, of all of the personalities on the panel. Today he was showing that he a back bone and a set of teeth, which could flay the flesh off an unsuspecting person.

Kelly took the lead now, before the younger judge lost his cool. And that might cause more problems, down the line somewhere. He did not want there to be any chance, which an opening might be left for Baltar's lawyer to step in. After seeing all of the evidence, and testimony? Kelly did not want this little weasel to escape on some technicality.

"Mr. Baltar you have been found guilty of capital crimes, which carry the death sentence among both of our people. By all right under our own law. You could have be taken out of this room, and shot at sun down. Then your body would be left out for the crows to eat, and take you black soul to hell or Hades if you prefer. But there are not any crows on this planet, so what is the point? Besides it is not your people's way of doing things. And this case was judged by your people's laws and customs. Not by mine I'm sorry to say, now that I have seen the evidence."

Kelly let that sink in. And now that slime ball was quiet and sitting back down in his chair. Kelly fought to keep his voice level, and knew that even Max's eyes were on him."

Mr. Baltar. You find yourself with a unique problem. You have been convicted of crimes, which should end your life. But we are short people, and we need every bit genetic diversity that we can get our hands on, for the foreseeable future." Kelly folded his hands on to the desk top, and leaned a little more forward in his seat.

Kelly went from looking at Baltar, to looking at one of the main cameras in the room. "I personnel, don't think you're worth the effort or time that you have cost your people. We have come up with few options, and we looked at each one very closely. One is just put a bullet in your ear, and be done with you. Or we can make you work for the rest of your days, on Astral Queen's hydroponics. You will be doing hard labor, sixteen hours days, every day for the rest of your life."

Kelly stopped talking and let the silence drag out for a double hand full of seconds, before he finished his line of thought. "In the end we decided that those were not workable as punishment for the crimes, which you have committed against your people. Crime that have led to the lost billions of souls because of your actions."

What Kelly was talking about, was first an effort put forward by the Stapps. It had been not long after the vote had been taken, to join the Colonials in leaving this planet. They had collected some DNA samples from anyone that wanted to give them up. They had taken hair, skin, and reproductive samples from those volunteers. All had been studied, and then cataloged. Then they had set all of those samples up in a long term storage situation. They had even started collecting samples from the Colonials to increase their catalog. Their stated goal was to collect at least something from every person they could. They even had so people donate keepsake hair of people who had not died.

The sperm and eggs were frozen and marked by name and listed any known living relatives to that sample. It was hoped that they would find Earth, and it would have human or human compatible people living on it. But what if they didn't find Earth? Or what if this Earth did not have people living there, yet? How were they going to survive? They needed every bit of genic diversity to survive, and most of the younger people were in high risk jobs. Like Viper pilots and warship crews, all jobs that could cost them those needed genes before they could be passed along to children.

The other project, which he had been referring to. It was that they had already trained the prisoners on the Queen for certain jobs. They would spend their days supporting the humans on the other ships in the fleet. They would do this by doing the grunt work to keep those food supply systems working at top efficiency on their ship or if on good on others. They also would be the ones that would supply, the refreshing supplies for the other ship' Hydroponics bays. It was grunt work, nasty, and brain numbing dull, but had to get done.

Baltar started sputtering, and did what his lawyer had told him not to do again. That was arguing with a Judge in open court. He was up and out of the chair, and he did it right in front of the recording news crews again!

"It's Doctor, you uneducated fool. You can't do this to me! I am the most highly educated person in this rag tag fleet, filled with imbeciles!" Out of the corner of Baltar's eye, he could see the red dressed cylon laughing at him. All as she was sitting on the edge of the Panel of Judges massive desk swinging her legs back and forth.

Kelly tilted his head to one side _._ _"_ _Yes it's time to take him down right the Frak now._ _But you had better be careful on how you do this."_ Now Kelly leaned back into his high back chair, and folded his hands under his chin. He heard someone moan off to one side of the room. They must have seen this pose before from Kelly.

"Yes, you are a highly educated person. And maybe even over educated, for that matter. But let's look at what you did with this education and brain power, shell we. One you were used by the cylons. You had a computer problem, which you were working on for the Colonial Fleet. You gave these same cylons access to this very sensitive system. And you hid this little fact from the Military. The cylons fixed your problem, which you by the way took full credit for when the software was released and the payments sent out. We have seen a copy of press release, you were telling everyone about how hard it was to fix, but you had done it in the end. The cylons used that access, you gave them, to sabotage your own people. We know that the Number Six told you, that she was a cylon. It was on the day of the attack on your planets, but before the bombs had started to fall."

Kelly now held up one finger. "When Helo gave up his seat on that Raptor, all so that you could leave the surface? You knew then, that the cylons were in human form. But you did not tell anyone, did you? You played dumb, Mr. Baltar. You could have told someone, that you could identify at least one of the cylons at any time you wanted to."

Now Kelly held a second finger in the air. "Next you made a "cylon detector". That was a complete fraud, and you knew it. However that did not stop you used this this project to get advantages over your fellow Colonials. You also requested and were given a nuclear weapon. On that you in turn gave to someone, which you knew was a cylon. And that they were in hiding on one off your people's spaceships. That same said cylon used that weapon, to destroy four ships with thousands of your people still on it."

Kelly stopped talking and took a few seconds to get another lung full of air before, he kept on going with his attack. "The only good thing that came out of that incident, was that explosion let my people knew. That your people were over our planet. It also just happens, to have also let the cylons find all of us. How many people died because of that Mr. Baltar? You're a smart man, a highly educated man. You should be able to at least get close to those raw numbers."

Captain Kelly was in full dressing down mode. And even Bill Adama was starting to take mental notes, for his own later use. By now Kelly had dropped his fingers, and his hand. So that he was not even close to making a fist. A part of his mind knew that, if he was waving his fist around. That it would both look bad on TV and be used against him somehow.

Baltar was turning red. And then put his foot in his mouth, all the way to the hip. "How was I supposed to know, that she was going to blow up a ship? It's not like I could read her mind. It was Cain's and her crews fault. That was why she went crazy like that. She just wanted justice for what they did to her, and that was the only way her broken mind could work out a way to get it!"

Kelly jumped on that statement like a pack of psi hounds on a vampire. "Why you're a highly educated person. What on Earth did you think a human form cylon would do with a nuclear warhead? I think even an eight year old would be able to figure, that one out. After what your people had been through, with other cylons with nuclear weapons. And let's not forget that she had already shot Admiral Cain dead."

A round of laughter came from the group of reporters at the back of the room. Kelly looked up at them with a stern look, and they stop mid movement. "Yes, we asked a group of eight year olds that question yesterday. And every one of them said, that if someone wanted a bomb? It was because they wanted to blow something up with it."

One of the reporters looked up, and over too few of their fellows. The story about two of the Judges being seen at one of the schools had been pulled after it had been submitted, and she had been laughed at. Now it would seem that she had been on to something, after all. She would make sure to let a few others know that she had been on to something, as tactfully as she was capable of. It was never good to say I told you so to the person who writes your paycheck.

Baltar was having a hard time catching his breath now. It was almost like someone had reached into his chest, and was squashing his lungs with strong fingers. After a few more mouths full of air, he launched a weak counter attack. One that sounded even weaker in the air, than it did in his brain. And that was saying something about his counter attack.

"So what are you going to do, throw me out an airlock? Like you did with those other cylons?" His arms did an exaggerated sweeping motion. For some reason a slight sneer cross his face that did not match the tone of voice that he had just used.

Roslin took a deep intake of breath, as she heard those words floating in the air. Some of the recording crews turned to get some tight shots of her, as soon as their minds caught up to them. They were thinking, that it was the reference to her having thrown a few cylons out of an airlock. That was because she had order just that type of action to be taken. What they did not know, was that the intake of breath was for a different reason. It was because she knew what was about to come down on the almost man, called Baltar.

Now the only Judge who had not spoken yet, turned to the criminal. "No Baltar. That is a waste of resources. And as we just informed the President of the Colonies of Kobal in our official statement. You have no value to the human race, you jackal."

Bob shifted his voice into full command staff mode. "It is our decision, that you will have your genetic material taken. It will be marked as an unknown person, and if someone wants use it? Then they can. Your line, and your name will end with you Baltar. You still might add some genetic material to the future of the human race. But you nor anyone else for that matter, will ever know. No one else well remember, you after you are gone in a family way. You will become a footnote in history. At best a tail to warn everyone about what can happen to them.

The courtroom was quit as a tomb, and Bob kept talking in his slow and methodical way. "Now after your material is collected, and after the Stapps have completed test on it. You will be executed and recycled into the soil, after all of due process has been completed. Baltar, I had a very open mind about you. But as we found out more and more about you. I feel that you represent what it means to be Evil, and not the cylon Number One called John. In my eyes you are worse than him."

The room was so quit. That a few of them thought that they could hear people waking in the hallway outside the room. Even with the thick soundproofing pads on the walls of this room. In truth they were hearing their own hearts beating loudly, in their own chests. It was like watching a train wreck, and they could not look away or speak. They could on record it or transmit it to the rest of the fleet, but they could not even open their mouth's to speak a clear thought.

Baltar found his voice again, but it was high pitched and had a lot of wine in it. "You can't do that. I know things! I can still be of useful to our people. I Fraking know things!" This ended in a high pitched screech, like someone had step on a cat's tail.

Kelly was ready for that type of comment, and he had been hoping that the idiot would have say something. Just like, he had just done in a fully recorded public setting. _"_ _It was time to put a final nail in your coffin, buckaroo."_ Thought Captain Kelly, as he had to fight to keep this face from showing a smile or anything like that.

"You know things? Okay show us, here and now. So, Mr. Baltar how do you make a weapon that projects a plasma ball, which can take out a cylon Centurion in one shot. But at the same time it has to be still be man portable? And the secondary affects, would be able to stop any cylon from downloading into a new husk? Do you know how to make a jump engine, which would be better than the cylons? How about, do you know how to make armor plate about twenty times better, than the cylons can currently produce? Can you do any of these things? Because I have people in my crew who can or think they can."

Kelly could see other people in the room. They had leaned a little forward in there set. Or they shifted their weight on their feet to make it look like they were leaning forward. But now they were looking at Baltar, each and every one of them. They all wanted to know, if he knew how do to those things or not. It had always been assumed that Baltar was the smartest surviving human in the whole fleet. Would now prove it?

Baltar had been shaking his head in a negative motion, as each request was put into the open air of the converted pilot briefing room. He had just said that he knew things, and now he was being show on a live broadcast how little he knew. " _This just was not fair._ _How could they expect him to know things like that?"_ Baltar was now working on how he could show the rest of fleet how unfairly he was being treated.

Kelly nodded his head up and down in reply to Baltar's nonverbal communication to his questions. "That is what we all thought, also. Now that you agree with us, that you have no use to us or the rest of your fleet. You are sentence to death Baltar, and your bodied turned into composts. At least this way some good will finally come out of your life, at least on this plain of existence. May your Gods have mercy on your soul? Because, we will not. As we understand it, in accordance to most Colonial law. We are directing that you have a minimum of three appeals of either the verdict or the sentence, before a death sentence can be carried out. We have made a note of this in our statements. You will have your three appeals. This Judicial Panel is closed."

Everyone had been watching and listing to the Judges, so closely. That no one had notice the young kid moving towards the ships bell again. That is till he stuck it, and it rang twice in the small metal room. It sounded like a bomb going off inside the metal walled room, after it had been so quite. At the end of the second note. The three judges rose, and left the room in one fluid motion. It was funny, that it looked so smooth, because they had not practiced this movement at all. It had just sort of happened that way.

As soon as the Judges had left the room, a group of Colonial Marines moved from the back of the room near the Press area without being noticed. They took control of Baltar without worrying too much if they left bruises on his arms this time or not.

Baltar had been speechless for the last few second, but by then all of the judges had left the room. He was pulled up, and his arm and hands pulled behind his back. That was when he started yelling at the top of his lungs, again. It would have been fun to hear his voice get high and higher in range, then when the metal handcuffs went on to tightly around his wrists. Soon he was shrieking like a gelded cat. All of it was caught on the recording devices, and or transmitted to the rest of fleet. So people would point out later, about how he accent changed from high Caprican to something a bit more on the rustic side after the cuffs were put on.

As Baltar was led away. Romo, let a smile cross his face. At that moment in time, he knew that he was not going to be working those appeal cases. Baltar would have access to a appoint appeals lawyer. Romo had never been one of those, before the cylon attack. Now he was thankful for that little oversight in his career. He might have lost, but he had also won. He would not have to deal with Baltar again, if he did not want to.

###########################

This display was not lost, on a lot of the want-be power players in the fleet. It showed that a change was in the wind, with what remained around the fleet powers. If you broke any of the major laws? You could not only lose your life, but any future generations would not know about you. To a lot of the want to be power players. This was extremely scary to them, and outside of their normal frame of reference. That was because they tended to plan, for at least two generations out for their end goals, or for when there grandkids could take over their family business.

The Earthers were very serious about the very idea of wasting any resources, while they were going to spend a lot of time in the areas between the stars. More than one of those people, who tended to push the rules when it suited them. They were shivering at the precedent that had just be set and shown fleet wide. All in full color, and sound. Some of the smarter ones, were thinking that it was a long time in coming, and they should not have been surprised by this move. What was left of the human race should have been in full on survivor mode, a long time ago.

When Baltar had been pulled from the room, the press turned and descended on Laura like wave of noise from the gods. Laura had been just as stunned as the rest of them. But she had almost half an hour more to digest the news, which had been dropped on all of them. She had read what they were going to do, but she had been given only a few minutes to really understand what was going to happen. In the note that was still in her hands. They had sited, in law, in each of the count and sentence they had passes. She had a rapidly growing feeling, deep in her guts. That she was going to be reviewing those sheets a lot more often, than anyone would have thought only an hour ago. This time it was not to gloat over Baltar finally coming to justice.

Laure had to hold her hands up and raise her voice to carry over the den raised by the voices asking questions directed at her. "Enough! No! I did not have any idea of what the sentence was going to be, when we walked into this room. It is against the law for me to know, before the Judges pass me the verdict that you saw them do." Her mind was going at the speed of light.

She waved the document in the air, so that they all could see the off white sheets of Colonial made paper. "I will file the verdict, and it will be public knowledge within the hour. I will tell you that on first read, which you all saw me do, when this was given to me. All site precedent for everything they said, and did just now. As the lead Justice said, just before he closed the case. It was that Mr. Baltar has appeals, which he must go through. All before this sentence is allowed to be carried out. I think that three Judges have done their jobs. And justice had been served for all the people in the fleet. And all of the people who had their voices silenced, by cylon nuclear weapons."

She answered almost a dozen more different questions before she had enough, and held up her hands to get a word in edge wise. "That is the last commit, I will make at this time. The Judicial system is separate from the civil government for a list of very good reasons. I want to thank you all for documenting this event, so that we all can see that justice had been done today." This started another water fall of words coming at her.

The temporary President of the Colonies smiled, and quickly stepped out of the improvised court room. She did not slow down, till she made it all the way to the access way that lead to CIC of the flagship. This was one of the few places, that she knew, that the press would not be able to fallow her. She would have preferred to go to Bills' private cabin, but with this pack of daggets on her heals. That might have not looked very good, when the images were blasted across the fleet on what she thought might still be a live broadcast.

Unlike on Colonial One, the guards at CIC would not let the press into any of the command rooms. Now she could hide, without it making it look like, she was hiding from them. She did not doubt that the bridge crew knew she was hiding, but they would not say a word. She hoped. As she was thinking about it. It was more than a hope, because if one of them said something. And it got back to the press? Bill or this XO would find out who had flapped their lips, and she did not think they would do it a second time. As soon as the hatch closed behind her, and she was safely in the fleet control center. She used the free time to visit with the command staff, and see how things were going with attaching the Earther warship to the hull of the old Battlestar. She passed the file to one of the clerks to have it added to the ships log, and to the fleet information network. After many hours of schooling from Bill, she knew how to do this without interfering with the smooth functioning of the CIC.

Roslin was in CIC for almost an hour, before Bill and Saul made their own way to the CIC threw the mass of press still roaming the corridors looking for a fresh target. They were looking at each other, when the armored access hatch closed behind them. So they did not know Roslin was there already. With Saul yelling at full volume, a bomb could have gone off in the room. And they still would not have notice her, even if they had been looking for her in the first place. Saul was working on a full head of steam, and his face was bright red to prove it.

"What the Frak were they thinking? The Fraking balls on some of those pricks, to ask questions like that. I don't know how you cannot want to rip there little Fraking heads off, Bill. That one of those little fraks, all but said you wrote the verdict yourself. Who the Frak do they think they were talking to? Baltar with a different skin?" Saul was flexing is right hand, now that he had full access to his cylon side. He was as strong, as any of other human form cylons. In other words he was one of the top ten strongest people on the whole Battlestar. He had been spending more time in the gym to it off to anyone that happened to be standing around.

"So I take it you both were as surprised, as I was? Not that I'm disappointed or anything, about their decision. Well besides, that it is going be a political nightmare, until the little Fraker is dirt." Bill and Saul's head snapped around, to look at who had spoken to them that way.

Bill smiled; it was not one of his warm smiles. It was more like the one he gave someone, just before he drops the boom on someone who needed it. "No, and from your question. You did not know about it either. At least not before Captain Kelly gave you the written verdict. What do you think?" Bill let his face got still, and he tilted his head to one side as he waited for her to given him some kind of reply.

Laura looked at the two men, that she had been able to sneak up on. But she did not want to be the first one to voice an opinion on the verdict. There were too many ways that it could go badly for her. "What do you think Saul?"

Saul, as was normal for him. He jumped right on the bait, she had offered up to him so nicely. "I thank it's a great Fraking idea. Wish I would have thought of it, and how to work out in a way to pull it off. That is, with it still being legal as all Frak. I think that some on the Quorum are going to have Fraking heart attacks, or they will try to take the credit for the idea."

Saul gave a snort and started to throw his head from side to side like a horse swatting flies. He had a sly grin on his face, as he pictured one or two of those political leaders reacting to what had just been done.

Laura nodded her agreement, with what the human form cylon had said. "I know what you mean, but putting someone alive in a compost bin is a bit much for me to agree to. I am glad they found him guilty, even if they did sat aside everything that he did during the occupation to us. I know we agreed to this, for when people die in the fleet. But it was supposed to be after we have left this planet. But…..?"

She let that go or a few minutes, and changed the subject a little on the two officers. "What do you plan to do with Baltar now Bill? I will say, that having them read the transcripts of his meeting with a member of the Number Six's was perfect. Do you think, that was the final nail?"

Bill was listening to both of them talk. He had picked up on how Roslin dodge his question, but went with it anyway. "I think, I need to keep him in a cell on the Galactica for a week or two. Before we move him back to the Astral Queen for the rest of what remains of his life. We can keep a closer eye on him here, just so that nothing happens to him. I would hate for him to kill himself, before I can see him catch bullet in the back of the head, we will not be putting him alive in the active bioreactor. But Kelly was right, at least now. We might get some use out of his carcass, which he has been avoiding while he was alive."

The cold in his voice made Laura look closer at the Admiral, which also was her boyfriend. The look on his face was a fierce almost crazy look. And she, in a quick second, now she knew how much Bill Adama hated Baltar for what he had done to the human race. She was about to say something, but stopped when she saw something slightly changes in Bill's expressions.

Bill turned and looked at Saul, and then back at Laura. He then said words that Laura had not heard him say before, in all the talks that they had together. "I think, now is a good time for a drink. Would you two please join me in my cabin? I have a bottle, which I was saving for my retirement party. I think now would be a good reason, to have one toast. Don't you all?"

Bill was looking right at Laura, and she smiled back at him. It was one of the smiles that she had just for him. "I think I can make the time. What about you Saul? What to see what Bill has been hiding from us, all these years?"

Saul gave a loud snort, which caused more than a few eyes to look in their direction. "When have you two have ever known me, to turn down a drink free or otherwise?" He took two steps, and then turned a little. "Well are we going, are Fraking what? Mr. Gaeta you have command for the next few hours. Try not to blow us up, will you."

When Felix's head turned to make eye contact with who was speaking. He got a slight nod from the Admiral standing next to the XO. He then tuned just enough, so that the XO could see his eyes. "Sir, I know that. I will do my best, not to let that happen."

The three of them left the CIC, going out of one of the side hatches laughing. They know that the press would still think, that they were still inside the CIC, for some time to come. They had no idea how much that lifted the morale of CIC. And between hours and days later, when the story would be passed around to all of the surviving ships in the little fleet. Most of the Colonial population agreed with the rumor, of what they were toasting to. But some did not. In other words about normal, when dealing with humans. You can never please them all, all of the time.

A few days later Admiral Adama, was in another meeting with Laura. Both of them were reviewing a report on a computer screen that was not Colonial made. This time the drinks were water mixed with fruit juice, and not thirty-five year old ambrosia from a well-hidden and locked bottle. That bottle was now almost half emptied. Surprisingly Saul had only had one drink, while Bill and Laura had a pair, before the bottle was locked back away into its hiding place.

Laura looked up after reading the last section, and back to Bill. But she had a questioning look on her face. "So things are going as planned?" The tone in her voice told Bill that she was not sure of what she said, so it was a question.

Bill looked at his love, and President, and he gave a little head shake. "It's going as well as we planned for, but not as well as we had hoped it would. We have had some problems come up. But they are nothing that we and they couldn't handle, when they come up. I would say that we are almost spot-on schedule, even with the later start, than we had first planned on. I think it was a great idea to plan to leave a few months early."

He took a breath, and set back in his chair. "I think it's time to make the announcement." Bill, was waiting to see what she thought about the idea, which he had just put on the table. He did not school his features. He did not need to, with this woman.

This brought Laura's head up and around, from the computer screen. This time she did look over the lenses of her glasses at him. "Are you sure?" She was studying him, but she knew that the time felt right to him. But was it the right time politically? She had to weigh both requirements before she could say anything.

Bill nodded his head. "We have taken care of Baltar, at least till his first appeal has to be heard. Both of Earther ships are being attached to my ship. And I'm picking up some rumblings about people who want to put back down planet, and start their lives over again. I think, that they are thinking, that the Earthers weapons tech will keep them safe from any returning cylons for the rest of their lives. I think, if we don't announce it soon. That it will start causing some issues, and those issues will get bigger the longer we wait. Is there a political reason, we should wait longer?" He knew that, she knew those points he had just covered. But there had to be a reason for her asking that question. He wanted to know if he had missed something.

Laure was nodding her head, as she digested what her partner was saying. "Okay I heard about some problems among some of the fringe groups. By the way. How did that "fish pond" turn out?" Laure had a few pet projects that she had been trying to keep track up. Sometimes she could not keep as close a tab, as she wanted to on them.

Bill tried not to smile at the question. "They had to drain it. We had tried to tell them that it wouldn't work, with just modifying systems like they had done. We had special designed ships, like the Cloud 9 and Zephyr. And even they had made it work, but it was only after fixing a long list of major design issues. It's just not any ship, which can support a complete underwater ecosystem of any size that is worthwhile."

Bill leaned back in his chair, to relax a little. "I think it worked out for the best. They will have to learn something's on their own. No matter what we told them, before. It worked out; I think better, this way. They had also tried to use four of their empty fuel tanks, as extra housing. But it seems that some of the people were staying or more likely complained. That it was not working out for them, because of the "smell". So they empty the "pond" into those empty fuel tanks. We will gain three more tanks of potable Water, that won't need to be re-filtered very much before being used.

Bill had a slight smile on his face, thinking about all the work someone else staff was going to have to do. "I know that the some of the command group over there is hoping that, the water will "wash" the tanks out better. Kelly told me, that he his thanking after a few months of living in very close quarters. Most of them will not mind the smell too much, versus have some extra room to live in. The fourth tank, they still want to try some kind of fish farming technique. It will be with some of type fish that likes it mostly dark and still water. They have an overabundance of this type of fish from the hydroponics systems, which they had been setting up. I don't know about the fish, it's a bottom dweller." He felt his face move into a disgusted look.

Bill stopped talking, before he continued, and started to chuckle out loud in a kind of soft voice. When Roslin gave him a strange look. He had to explain the chuckle. "I just surprised myself, on how fast. I got used to fresh and almost unlimited food, and even protein that was not algae based. I slipped right back into that old stigma, about eating bottom fish. I bet after all of the fresh meat in storage is gone, that bottom feeding fish will be worth its weight in pure gold. Even with each ship in the fleet having a dozen egg laying chickens, and a roster supplementing them with fresh food every day. I still think we are going to in short supply of "normal" food again. And it will probably be only a few months or so, after we leave this planet behind us. All it would take is losing the Kimba Huta, or even just losing her freezers. Then it is, back to the vats our spoons will go."

He held up his hand to stop, what he knew she was going to say. "I know that Kelly and his group have run the numbers. But I think they are being betting on the optimistic side, and not a more realistic rate of consumption. We needed to come up with a plan to make out supply stretch as long as we can."

Laure smiled a soft smile at the man. "I'm sorry that they could not get that pound idea to work out. I think the kids both small and older would have gotten some use out of it, just look at how busy the Zephyr's and Cloud 9's are. Do you think a dozen birds in enough on each ship? Can we do with more? The fresh eggs would be very nice. I know that they are keeping the surviving sheep and goats on the Earther ships."

That had caused a few issue, when none of the Earthers had not sold any of those two types of beast to the Colonials. When pushed, a statement was given out, that the Earthers would be giving out milk to only children under twelve and infants. Anyone else would have to buy it from them. This left only fish and the a few chickens as the source of fresh meat for the rest of the fleet.

Bill nodded. "I think a dozen is good for right now. We don't have many people, who know how to rise and other wise take care of them properly yet. I'm also worried about having enough food for those few beasts they have for the trip in storage. Or being able to find or make more of it, along the way. We have a path mapped out to where we thank Earth might be. But it could be anywhere along that route that we are looking. We have no idea how long it will take find it. And what we will find when, or if we get there."

One of the things that Bill was hoping for, was that the Earth they were looking for, would have some kind of picket fleet or patrols far out from the planet stellar system. Space was a very big place, after all. The data that they had gotten from the Earthers, the scrolls, and the Arrow had helped them plot out a course. But was it the correct course? They had no idea, but it was better starting data than Bill had started out this mission with.

"I understand that one." This time it was her that did the soft laughing, and then had to explain why. "It's amazing how much time you spend thinking about food, and the ends and outs about getting more food. Especially after you have not have enough to eat once or twice. I thought you wanted to wait on telling everyone what is coming. At least until you have completed the test jumps, with the second ship attached?" She was dragging her feet about deciding what the next step should be for the people, that looked up to her as there leader.

Bill knew that she was just trying to make sure, that he was not rushing into something. It was her job after all, to make sure the military had their ends covered. "The fabrication ships have been able to get all of the support braces done, and all of the additional load or stress supports are already attached between all of the ships. Look Laura we have to do it some time. We have always known that. Now is as good of a time as any, to do it. I think you will get less political blow back, as the Earthers say, if you do it now. It might even get people fired up and re-focused, on getting ready for the next step. We need something to wind them up, for the last push we need out of them. I think we will get a lot more done if they have a goal that they know we are working for. If they think they are working just for working sake. They might not work as fast as they could."

Laura looked down as her hands on the new wood topped deck. It had replaced the old metal one, which had been in this office not long after the craft had gotten the new call sign after her last ground launch from a Colonial planet. "Frak I hate it when you're right. Okay, so when can we do it. And when, we both can get the most results from the announcement?"

She turned to the computer, and pulled up her schedule and his. She had to move back and forth, and up and down the two documents. Until she found, what looked to be the best time for both of them. "How about four days from today?"

Bill looked down his glass at the woman, who did the same to the man sitting across from her. The "Gaze" did not have any power on the other person. Bill felt his lips turn down some. "Laura, I talked with Kelly. And they would like to make the announcement t in two days are less."

Laura let out a sigh, and squeezed her lips together before speaking again. "Frak I hate having to keep Allies friendly, and helpful for our long term health. How did they do this stuff during the 1st Cylon war?"

At the start of the first cylon war, not all of the Colonials had been under one flag. They had even fought a few wars against each other. That had been one of the key drivers for making cylons in the first place, cannon fodder. Getting them to work together to fend off the cylons had been the first truly unifying action in tens of generations.

Bill had a grin on his face, which reached all the way to his eyes. "Laura such language, have you been spending too much time with Starbuck or Saul again?"

Tory could not make out the most of the words coming through the door, even with her cylon enhanced hearing. But she could hear the tone. And she made sure to divert traffic, as much as she could, just so that her boss could have some enjoyable time with her boyfriend. You had to be able to maximize the few bits of enjoyment, wherever you could find it.


	11. Chapter 11 The Press Broadcast

This was not beta before posting so all errors and issues belong to me. As always reviews are welcome. 4 May.

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 11 Press Broadcast**

 **Two days later**

Laura was in one of the newly renovated side rooms of Colonial One. News crews were working in her office, getting ready for the big day. She had to use this room to get any work done. At least work, that she did not want to do in front of the working news reporters and support staff. This was going to be major fleet wide broadcast. She could have just used the normal podium in the "main cabin" for this speech, just like she had done a few dozen times before. That was the only way she knew how to do it. But now she had able to review several addresses from Earth leaders in their past, which she had been given access to by Bob and Max.

She like the way some of the Leaders from somewhere called the USA had been able to project power, from behind their wooden working desk. It had been when they had been addressing their people, about some major issue or an event that was relevant to them. This was a time to present and project power and confidence all the same time. That was why Laura had chosen to change how it was going to be done. Well at this time at least. If it proved not to have any advantage, with the people in the fleet. She would go back to the old way of giving her prepared speeches, with the podium in the press room. She was hoping that she was going to hit this one out of the park, with this change.

She was trying to calm down and center herself, as she reviewed her speech notes in an old coat and rain jacket closet. It did not take long for her to get the point again, about what questions might be asked. And she started working out a few answers for them or in needs be, a plan to dodge them for a while. Tory knocked on the door, with three sharp raps on the metal door. She did not enter, but the signal was to let her know that the news crews had finished setting up there equipment in her office. The signal also told her that it was time for her to return to her office and desk.

"Well it's go time now? Or they're going to think you are hiding from them, again." She said to the empty room, and let the words bounce back to her ears with the odd echo the little room gave her voice. She took a breath and exited the room, with a set blank expression on her face. Tory gave her a quick looking over from head to shoes, before she would let Laura returned to her office and the press crew waiting there.

The different Colonial news groups had set up against the far wall of her office, with their equipment pointed directly and supposable focused at her desk. She returned to her chair, and Tory did another check of her. She was making a quick adjustment to some minor flaws in Laura's makeup or adjusting her cloths to look just right for the camera. Some of this was done with just the right amount of clear sticky tape.

Laura had five minutes before the scheduled start of the broadcast. But she knew better than to assume that the imaging and recording devices, were not running as soon as she re-entered her office. She still just ignored them. She was looking at her speech cards again, make the odd note on them. She was also keeping an eye on Tory, who gave her thumbs up after what seemed like an hour of waiting and killing time that she did not have to waist.

That was the signal she had been waiting for. She now had sixty second, before they were to start. She turned in her chair a little, and faced the press reporters and gave them all a small smile. She made a small adjustment in the chair again, and then put her both of her palms flat on the desk top. One of the news crews had his hands up, with all of his fingers spread out in a fan shape. And then one by one, the fingers dropped, till only one was pointing upwards. With a flourish, he pointed to her with that one finger. She was on live to the fleet wide broadcast.

She gave the cameras a political smile, and started her well prepared speech. "Good day people of the Fleet. This is to both the old hands, and to the Earthers, whom have decided to join us in our quest. I am addressing the fleet, and all of the people who live within its great metal walls. I have to say will have an effect on all of us."

She kept talking in an even, but not a monotone voice. "I here tonight instead of the normal briefing room, because I have to tell everyone that something has come up. And everyone needs to know about it in some detail. No matter where you might be in this star system."

She gave the camera a sly grin as she continued talking in that easy way, which she had first developed to deal with parents. "Now I know that some out there, have been speculating for some time about how we knew about the cylons returning. I am her today to tell everyone, that we have been given intelligence about some of the cylons future plans. At least as they have to do with this area of space. We had no idea at the time, if it was true or not. But now it has been proven correct so far. But one thing we have learned, after the last cylon sneak attack. It is that you should always plan for the worst, and then make another plan. Just in case if it gets even worse, than you first thought it could possibly be. But as I have already said. It turned out the information was very accurate. And we were able to evade the cylons, twice now. Now for the bad news, that some of you must have been thinking was coming. I do not what to disappoint you, or lead you all down a rose lined path with bare feet." She stopped taking as one of the camera people puta free hand over their mouths to stop from making a noise.

It was known that over a dozen people, had the same event happen to them. That had happened to Dexter and Starbuck. It was exactly like them, minus the drawing the odd pair had drawn all night. These events had very few witness, but there had been more than enough of them for word to have gotten around. Nothing had been confirmed, by any Colonial. The Earthers had been more flexible with the information, and even if very few of the Colonials had believed them. Enough of the Colonials had started to come around in the last few weeks, to understanding the information. All of that was about to change, in a big way.

She took a breath and looked right in to the camera, this one was standing almost to the far wall of her office. She wanted there to be no doubt that she was serious about what she was about to say. "We have a pretty accurate timeline, on when the next cylon visit is supposed to come by this system. And this time it is going to be a massive fleet, when they come back in around two hundred and twenty days from today. I know some of you will think that we have beating them once before, and we can do it again."

Laura was starting to shake her head from side to side very slowly, even a soft chuckle left her lips. "The next return visit will have a fleet as large, as what the cylons used in the first wave of their surprise attack on all of our home planets all at once. Not even with the amazing weapons the Earthers, have, will not stop them next time. When the cylon land on this planet, they still will have that massive fleet in orbit. We know that if the cylons find any humans still hear in this system? They will just pound us with heavy weight nuclear weapons from orbit, until nothing will be left living on this planet."

Roslin knew that this statement was not a hundred percent true, but it was very close to it. Now she was about to lower the boom on more than a few egos, that were known to be in the fleet. More than a few of them had been starting to stir up trouble for both her, and Bill. He had been right not to delay this. It had only taken her a few hours to find out what some of the power players were trying to do around the fleet in the dark of night. Then it had taken less time for her to work out, what she thought of as the best way to crush their plans.

"All of the Earthers will be leaving with us, and we will be leaving this system in six months' time from now. To be more precise, the Admiral wants to leave this system in less than one hundred and eighty days. The Earther's leadership have had access to the same information, which we did. And they have deiced, on their own, that all of them will be leaving will us. They felt that any non cylon left on the planet will be destroyed, when this larger fleet of cylons returns. And I, whole heartily, agree with them."

Laura saw some looks be given between their fellow camera crews. She notice them, but she did not stop with her prepared remarks. "The next six months are going to be busy with a lot of blood, sweat, and tears spent like there is no tomorrow by both of our peoples. We need to collect, preserve, and store all food we can. While were are doing that, we need to as well finishes fixing our ships, to leave this system. We will also need all of the other resources we can, that we can gather and store in our ships. This is going to take a lot of very fast hands of our personnel to do all that needs to be done. I hope that you all, well do whatever needs to get done. So that we will be better prepared for upcoming trip. If any of you want to help out? You all know where to go, and who to contact. We have two goals right now. First is not being here when the cylons return. And the second item, is not to run out the things we need while we look for Earth and the thirteenth tribe."

She took a breath, _"_ _And now for the other bit of news, which I wanted to pass along"._ She knew that she needed to strike while the iron was still hot. "With the help of the Earthers, their books, data, and the odd tools at their disposal. That they supplied Admiral Adama and his staff. Between them, they have been able to plot a course towards our hopeful freedom."

That route was going to way longer than she wanted to let people know right now. They even were going to have to back track over a dozen jumps in the general direction of their home system. They were going to have to travel re rest of the way through the Outer Arm of the galaxy. Then they would have to pass through the massive almost starless Gulf to the Perseus Arm. They were going to have to travel threw that Arm and a smaller Gulf to get to the little known Orion Spur. It was going to be a long trip and right now they did not know how deep into the Orion Spur they would need to travel. They would not know that until they were a lot closer.

"It's going to be a long trip, but we have rebuilt our ships and we have stout hearts to crew them. We will get through this by hard work, and also working together as one people. Thank you for your time and good night

Laure stopped talking, and waited for the little red lights. That were only supposed to say on when the cameras were actively transmitting. One by one the cameras, which were transmitting lights went dark. She did not trust the lights, and more importantly. She did not trust the people who switched those lights off and on for a living. So she held her last pose for a solid two minutes, after the last light had gone off. When she felt that the time was right, only then did she move her notes to one side of the desk and activated her working on her old style desk top computer. When it powered up, and the application she needed had opened. She looked up to see the news crews starting to pack up there gear on the far side of her small office. They were talking among themselves in very shushed voices that did not carry audibly to her desk.

Laura gave the film crews a smile, when she looked up from her scheduling software. "Sorry for the change of venue guys. Maybe one of these days. We will have more than one place to do these short of things. And it won't be such a tight squeeze to get everyone in and out." She let her work face drop, and she put on her "I'm looking for your vote" look.

She was rewarded with not so soft chuckling, from the mixed group of men and women working on packing up the press equipment in the "crash" proof containers. She could not do some of the work related things, which she wanted and needed to do. Because she did not trust the press team, some of them were "real" reporters after all. More to the point, a few of them wanted to be "real" reporters. It had taken over an hour to set up all of the equipment. But she had been told that they would only need half that amount of time to break it back down, and move it back to the other rooms on this space liner. She had no idea how long it would take to re-set up the equipment back in the places it had come from, before the temporary move.

As she was working on a few low level task. She noticed that it seemed to Laura that they were taking longer than they had told her staff to finish their tasks. She was just about to say something at the forty-five minutes mark, when Tory entered her office with a sly grin on her face. She had been very careful, that the smile was hidden from the news crew still in her office. She did this by using her body to shield her face from being seen by them.

Tory was being very formal with her tone of voice, and word usage. And even the stance she was using in front of the news crew. Some among the fleet, still did not like the idea, of the cylons working with humans. No matter how much they had helped them in the past. There were an equal number of shows, which talked about the good the final five and a select few other cylons had help what remained of the human race. And the show that were all about the hell the cylons had done to the human race as a whole.

"Madam President. Admiral Adama asked if you would meet him over on the Pegasus, when you had some open time on your schedule."

Laura had been expecting Bill to contact her, but not like this. Was something up? Her mind went racing down a list of issues, which might have blown up so bad. That it would needed input from both of them face to face, to fix it. She was careful not to let any worry cross her face, while her mind was doing a few back flips. After a few long seconds, she worked up a safe question to ask her right hand woman.

"What does my schedule look like?"

Tory smiled a little broader, and with a few more teeth now showing to her boss. She was trying to give a hint to her boss. Without saying a word that might picked up by the others, and maybe used against Laura in the future.

"Nothing, which I can't do. And then send a copy to you threw the Earther information network later to you for review before publishing."

Tory let her face drop into a little frown, and her tone changed just slightly. "You do need to review those questions from the Quorum, for their meeting tomorrow." That a job that Tory could not and would not do, even if Laura had asked her to. When she looked back up to face her boss she had a little twinkle in her eyes.

Laura nodded at finally noticing the look and tone. She rechecked her computer. She review a few notes, that she felt were the most important. It all was a bit of acting, which she knew would get back to a few certain taking heads by the end of the day. Then she made eye contact again, with her aide after only a hand full of minutes passed.

"Well then. When is the next scheduled short haul Raptor supposed to be by?"

She did not want anyone to think that she was just going to fly over at the beck and call of the fleet commander. There had been restrictions on flights between spaceships, as a fuel saving measure for the last few weeks. Ships still needed to have items moved between ships, so all flights could not be banned. It would have looked bad, if it even looked like it had turned out. That she was not also fallowing those rules, which she had passed and very publicly supported.

Tory smiled a big white toothy smile, but had to do a quick side step out of the doorway. This was so an armload of electronics, could now be moved out of the Presidential office. When she was back to standing where she wanted. She did a little nod of the head towards her boss. She was starting to enjoy pulling something on the nest of vipers, in the press pool.

"The next Raptor is one that the Earthers fly. It was flying close by, on some kind of testing mission. When I contacted them? They told me that they could be here to pick you up, in about half an hour. But it will be after they finish whatever tests, they need to do. And that might delay them for an unknown amount of time."

Laura could not help, but let a sly smile come to her face _._ _"_ _So Tory was playing match maker again._ _I'm okay with it….this time,"_ thought Laura in a quite part of her mind.

"Please let me know, when they are ten minutes out from landing. And Tory, be sure to thank them for the trip, when they contact us again." Laure put her head down a little, and pulled up two files of papers. These were files that she knew, that she had to do. Before she could have some free time with her man.

The news crew quickly finished the equipment break down, and left the room. Laura was so focused on finishing the two files full of boarding but also required work. That Tory had to clear her throat twice to get her to look up from the tasks.

"Roslin your ride is waiting in the hangar. You didn't respond to my notice that they were on the way, or when it landed. "

Tory made an odd facial expression, which was not normal to her. It was the look of concern for her boss. She knew that the cancer was supposed to be gone, but you never know with that kind of monster lurking in your body. After a hand full of seconds, she decided to push a little harder. Laura was not acting "normal", and she felt the needed to ask.

"Is everything okay? Do I need to schedule a fallow up appointment with one of the Earther doctor?"

Laura could hear the concern in her voice, and smiled back at the darker skinned human form cylon. It was with a smile, which reached all the way to her eyes for only the second time today. It was not a sad smile. It was one that you gave to a friend that might just be a little on the over protective side about your health.

"No I'm fine, and before you start moving things around in your mental calendar. Both doctors have given me a clean bill of health, as you well known three days ago. I was just reviewing some of the stories, which I got from Captain Kelly log files. And I didn't notice the time or you alert."

Laura gathers up a few things from around her office, and put them in her battered leather shoulder satchel. Tory had Laura's overnight bag already packed and by the door, for quick access or escape that might be required. The pair of them quickly walked to one of the docking hatches on the spaceship small hangar bay. It was a well-worn path by now, and one the designers had never expected to have been used this much.

* * *

The hatches were open between the two ships, and Athena was waiting by the airlock hatch on the space liner side. She was not happy to see Roslin, but at least she did not actively want to kill the President. At least not right now, anyway. Roslin offered pleasantries to the pilot, but the human form cylon just nodded her slightly back at her words. She still did not smile or say a word to the woman, who had order her new born child hidden from her. When Laura had entered the craft, Athena pulled herself off of the hatch and fallowed the older woman into the small craft.

As soon as Roslin was sitting in one of the empty seats at the back of the Colonial made craft. She was surprised, that the craft was not being flown by both Agathons today. They were the only fully qualified Raptor team that the Earthers had. Or at least the only ones that she or Bill knew off. The person in the EO's seat was someone she did not recognize, and with the limited number of humans know to have been left alive. That was very unusual for Laura, even with the few thousand new faces of the Earthers.

When Athena said something to the EO, in English in passing. Laura assumed that the stranger was one of the Earthers, who are being trained in how to use the Raptors Colonial built systems. For another time, in what seemed like a weekly event. She was amazed that such a small group in numbers, would be doing so many different jobs. All of which needed to be done, and done quickly. She knew that they still had their share of lagers. But it was a lot lower overall percentage, than what the Colonials had to deal with.

This subject had come up a few times in meetings among the Colonials in public and private meetings. The leading theory, was that all the people. Who were on those two ships, had volunteered for a dangers mission to reinforce an exposed colony on their planet. That takes a very special bread of person. One that does not like just sitting around waiting for things to happen to them. They were more proactive, or more willing to try something new.

Roslin had taken an open seat in the craft, and strapped herself in. Just like she did every time that she flew, since the cylon attack. Well after that one time, she had not, and it had turned out badly. She had been lucky that she had only damaged her pants in a few spots and ripped a hole in her jacket. She waited till Athena had taken the pilot or hot seat on the Raptor, before addressing her again. She had been told by Bill, that Sharon had been fully accepted into the Earthers military some time ago. And they like using call signs also. In fact. They preferred to be called by those call signs, instead of their real names, most of the time.

"So Athena, what were the tests that you were running? Before you came to give an old lady a ride to her next meeting?"

Laura was trying to keep the tone as light and friendly as she could. She was still working with Bill on patching things up with the couple. She did not regret what she had done, with the child and to them. At the time it seemed like the best plan to protect everyone, human, cylons or something in-between.

Athena stopped flipping buttons in mid-movement, and looked over her shoulder at the woman who had spoken to her. But her arm did not come down from the panel, which she had been working with. She used a measured voice to answer the question. It would not have been considered polite by her commander to not have replied.

"We were running a training mission. You know training up some of the Earthers, in how to use Colonial designed small craft." Athena's head turned back to the panel, and she went about finishing her pre-flight checklist. She did keep checking out the small mirror that let her seen behind her into the cargo area as those buttons and switches were activated.

When she was done, she did not look at her passenger in the mirror. She just called out over one shoulder. "Are you ready to go?"

Laura thought there was more to that story, than Athena was saying or wanted to say to her. "Yep, my life is in your hands pilot."

She was not going to push too hard. If had been someone other than Athena? She might have pushed a little more. Instead she just made a mental note to pass on that bit of information to Bill and his staff, later. There might be something in the testing that she was doing, that Bill might want to know about.

Athena's head snapped up so quick, that it should have broken her neck, from the Raptors read outs. But she did not turn to face the other woman, or otherwise address the statement she had been given. After a few seconds she went back to her work. If someone had not been in a few hundred Raptor flights? They might have missed the movement of the human form cylon, sitting in the pilot's seat. Laura did not however miss it, and made another mental note of the action and reaction of the pilot to what she had said. Maybe things between her and the mixed cylons family were changing after all.

* * *

The trip to the largest warship, which the humans knew about, was quick. And the small craft's crew did not talk to the only passenger inside the cramped little craft. Laura pass the time by watching out the massive window, which made up most of the front of the Raptor. She could see from her seat at the back of the passenger/cargo compartment without needing to move around too much. Laura tried not given anything away, as Athena made a shortest time course to the Battlestar.

A shortest time course? This meant that she skimmed the hulls of a few of the civilian, which were in the way between the physical location of Colonial One and Mercury Class Battlestar. The ship that they were supposed to be going towards. Laura knew without a doubt, that this was going to raise a few complaints from those ship's command crews by her close shave of a passage. But she did not say a word to the pilot, as the fleet little craft bobbed and weaved through the fleet at break neck speed. Athena made a quick approach to the warship, and sat down on one of the aft most landing pads built into the port side hangar pod.

The angled sided craft had only just come to a complete stop on the landing pad. Before the pad started to drop, into the hull of the massive human warship. Then it went through three different airlock systems, before it ended up on the main hangar that was the core of the port side hangar pod. It was a very busy place, and the landing went unnoticed by the hangar crew moving around the area. The only people, who noticed the arriving craft, were the ship's master and his father. That it would seem like they just happened to be on the hangar deck, when the Raptor in question landed.

Both men were near the access point from the hangar pod and the main ship access point, when the large hatch on side of the Raptor popped open in a silent grace. Soon the air from both craft, was mingling together. The two men walked quickly, but not quickly enough, to draw any unwanted attention from anyone working in the hangar. They were just coming to the low wing of the scout craft, when Laura exited the hatch of the Raptor with a smooth and well-practiced grace. With a hung to the older Adama and a hand shank to the younger man, then the three walked to the nearest exit from the hangar bay. They made small talk till a large and heavy metal hatch closed behind them. This cut off the bays abeyant noise and, any ears that might be too close for comfort. There were very few public areas in the whole fleet that would have allowed these three to have anything like a private conversation.

The trio of key leaders had not been gone for more than a minute or two from the Hangar pod, before the Earther controlled and crewed Raptor had started moving to the forward most small craft launch rail. It was the nearest one, which normally supported the warship's Raptor launches. Athena and her EO did not leave the craft as it was moved around the massive work area. They did not even exit it, when crewmembers of the Battlestar hooked up the fuel lines to top off the craft's fuel, air and water tanks. It was a quick fill for the hoses pulled from nearby metal walls.

After all, the system was designed to be used to refuel this type of craft while cylon missiles were impacting the ship at the same time as the support was happening. Athena and her Raptor were flung back into the cold of space again, before the trio of leaders had made it to the young ships masters' cabin. It would another short trip back to one of the twin launch/landing pad attached to part of the Lucky Find. Athena and her EO in training were not done yet. They had a lot of both testing and simulator time that had be completed, before they were allowed off of shift.

* * *

When the three had entered Apollo's command cabin, Lee did not sit behind the desk that was the center of the metal walled space. Instead they all moved to the entertainment area, which was a little farther back into the large cabin he had called home from almost two years now. After everyone had taken a seat, and seemed to be a little comfortable. Apollo was the first one to break with the small talk, which had dominated the conversation between them so far.

"Madam President that was a great speech you gave. But do you think it will work?" Asked the younger Adama to the elected leader of what remained of the Colonies. He was learning a lot for this pair of older people. A lot more, now that Baltar was no longer in a leadership position. Or maybe him working behind the scenes to get into a position. So that little fraker could get back into a powerful position among the fleets leadership.

"Thank you Lee. And I hope so. VP Gray has a by name list of everyone under the age of sixteen that is "working". We both want to get the list down to were the only jobs the young ones are doing. That is allowed below that line, should be only as a student and or a teacher. I know that the mining, refinery, and tankers all have gotten to that level. Beside now maybe it will keep Zarek on the defensive, for a little while longer."

Laura was talking as she shifted around a little and moved a little closer to Bill, on the well-used couch. Admiral Cain might have been off of her rocker, big time, at least after the cylons had attacked her ship while in dock. But she did know how to pick out some very comfortable furniture. How she got the Colonial navy to pay for it? Now that was going to be one of those mysteries, which never would have a resolution accepted by most people.

Bill, for his part, snorted at what Laura had just said. "That man is playing in a sand trap of stupidity, and he just can't stop himself from swinging away." Bill had kept his face still, and watched both of the other people in the room. He wanted to see how they would react to his last comment.

Apollo, who was taking a drink from a glass of water at the time, started chocking as the fluid went down the wrong pipe in his throat. He had not been expecting, something like what had just happened. At least he had not blown the water all of the way across the room….this time. After he was able to stop coughing, he could ask something between coughing fits.

"Dad, were did you come up with that one?" Cough, cough, gasp and them more coughing.

The older Adama smiled at both of them, as they sputtered fine drink mist into the air. He had been waiting weeks to have just the right time, to drop that line on someone. Luck just happened to have it, that it was going to be these two.

"It seems the Earthers and we share another game in common, between us. They call there's Golf and we call it Apocryphal. I was talking to one of the Earthers in the mess hall, and she dropped that line on me out of the blue. It had been while we were discussing Raider tactics, and how that cylon fraker John had been employed those craft against us so far. Before I had to leave to get back to the CIC. I had her write that phrase down, so I could memorize just. All just so, I could pass it along, when the time was right. It does sounds pretty good, if I do say so myself." Bill had a very self-satisfied looked, plaster all over his craggy face. There were some of the few people in the whole fleet that he could let down all of his walls.

Laura was smiling, and pulled up her legs onto the couch's seating area. She folded them up under her butt, almost shoemaker style. The way she was sitting, made her look 15 years younger. "Okay that was good one, and I have to agree. And it dose fits Tom pretty well."

She took another sip of her drink and her face was now serious. "I need to change the subject, before I forget about it. Athena brought me over in the Earther owned Raptor. It seems that they were running some kind of test, before they picked me up to come over. When I brought it up, she said that they were training some new crews on the Raptor systems. I think that she was not telling me, the whole truth."

She stopped taking for a second and looked down into her glass. "It was the way she said it, and how the other crewmember were acting when I brought it up. I think she was doing something else. And I got the feeling that they did not want me to know what they were up to, and they pulled this cover story out. Would one of you boys know, if I'm just being paranoid? Or did I catch them up to something odd?" She was hoping that she was just jumping to conclusions.

Lee made a face, and went to a phone mounted on the desk at the other end of the siting area. "CIC. Dee? It's the Lee. Check the DRADIS and the other logs, please. I want to know if we picked up anything strange over the last three hours. That might have been going on with ER 1. If you can go back and cover the entire time that it was out, that would be best. We need you to keep this as quite as you can, for now. I going to need to wait. Yes, I'm with the two of them. The President said they were acting a little off when they picked her up"

Lee sat on the wooden desk top, while he waited till his wife came back to the hard line communication device. It was taking some time, and he watched as Laura and his father that were almost snuggling together on his couch speaking in low voices. He was thinking that they made a good couple, when a voice came back to into the horn shaped receiver next to his right ear.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, just sat out there and did not move for half an hour. Can you send me the raw data to my system in the cabin? Thanks Dee, see you after shift."

Lee put the horn shaped device back into is holder, and then looked at the other two people in the room. "CIC did not pick anything strange on DRADIS, or any other systems for that matter. She was able to track if from the first launch off of the Lucky Find, all the way unit it docked back on the ship's forward landing and launching box pad. Dee is going to send the raw data to me, if you want to look at it. She is going to flag it for a more detailed second look."

He then focused back on to his father. His father had an odd look, made with his mouth, and on the left side of his face. It was doing an odd little twitch thing that said he was thinking. Lee's stomach dropped to his toes, as his mind put a few pieces of information together out of the blue. His butt hit the desk top with a thud, and he looked at this commander and father.

"Are you thinking, what I think your thing you are?"

Bill nodded. "Yes." He looked at Laura, as she shifted a little. She was curled up; almost cat like next to him. "We have been getting some hints lately. That the Earthers were working on a way to add there "Radar" based technologies into a Raptor. It might have been a one of those tests, which you got a peek of." There were not state secrets that he was talking about, more the results of a few late night bull sessions in the ships bar.

When Bill got the hint, that she did not understand the importance of a test like that? He had to back track a little to fill in a few of her blanks mental spots about military technology. "The Earthers "Radar" is so different from our systems, like DRADIS. That we can't detect the energy wave they produce, or know when it's being used against us. So far it's been what the Colonial Navy would call very short ranges system, say forty miles or so for the most part. In space combat? You have to be able to reach a lot farther than that, to be of any real use."

Laura blinked a few times. "That doesn't seem like friendly things to do, without letting one of you two know about it?" One part of her mind was always working on, what if an allied turned on you at the worst possible time. Her mind stop at the point that they might start working with the cylons against the Colonials.

Bill gave her a soft laugh, but it was not condescending. "I don't think it's anything nefarious Laura. They have a lot of smart people over there, with a lot of free time on their hands. They were the ones, to first to invest the time and resources. On the idea to up armor a Vipers, and after we saw that it worked. We stated the same thing, but they put in all of the blood, sweat, and tears that the ground work first required. If they want to spend the time working, and tinkering on things, even what we would think of as only military items?"

Bill did a shoulder shrug, and started talking again. "Then I'm fine with it. I wish more of our people had those kinds of skills. So far, they have been working out the bugs, on a number of new things that we know if. Most that, might even be useful to the Fleet as a whole later on down the road. They have been happy to trade them to us in the past, after they have done almost all of the hard parts. It's a good balance of trade. Think of it like they are a small prototyping company from back home on Caprica. They work on something, then they traded the idea to a larger company to make the products."

Lee pulled out a note pad from his desk, which everyone could tell was an Earther made product. That was because it did not have the cut corner look of a Colonial supplied product. He flipped threw a couple of pages rapidly. He was looking for some notes, and the pages finally stopped moving, when he found what he was looking for.

"We ran test on the MK VIII Vipers, and they are twenty percent harder to detect than a standard MK VII Viper with DARDIS The same is true with the same modification to the one MK IIs Viper that, we computer modeled. We have not tried to find out what Radar might be able to do against them. Cylons don't use Radar, as far as we know and have found out."

Lee looked up from his notes and at his father. "If the updated Raptor have the same capabilities against normal DARDIS. And then you add in a detection system, which has the same low ability for cylons to know they are being watched?"

Lee was tapping the pad of paper with one of his fingers. "That will make the prototype Stealthstars look like a second rate child toy." The stealth star was Tyrol's modification of a version of the Viper craft, which was bleeding edge technology in the Colonies before the attack. To say and have computer models, that proved that a group of people. That did not have a jump drive or even could lift a ship all the way out of their gravity well. But could make those craft seem like child's play, was a powerful statement. Those people were just made to wage war on someone, or more to the point. They believed in being to not only wage war on someone, but be prepared to win a war against any and all comers.

Before he could say any more, an alarm went off on a wall mounted Clock near the main hatch. Lee looked at it, and then back to the older people in the room. "Sorry, I have to cut this short." He patted his much flatter stomach, but still not to the way it had been before the cylon's had attacked his people.

"I have to hit the gym. Dad, I will be gone for an hour and maybe a little more. Before I have to get cleaned up, and check back in with CIC." Lee was already moving as he spoke. He did not know it, but he had smile on his face. Lee was looking forward to going to the gym, which had not always been the case.

Lee picked up an already packed gym bag near the left side of his cabin desk, and left the cabin with some pep in his step. As he left his cabin, he had a strange thought. His dad was happy, and that was not a common event. Not even before, the cylons sneak attack.

 _"_ _How would I feel, if the old man remarried?_ _He could do worse than Laura Roslin as a wife,"_ he thought. As he made his way to the main ships gym, for his daily work out. Then he had a dirty thought, of what he and Dee had done on that same couch a few nights before. Well, it was a comfortable piece of furniture. And it was very well designed piece of furniture, on top of that.

Lee had to give himself a mental shake. He almost tripped over his own feet, as a very disturbing image came into mental view. Kids should not think about their parent or about parents having sex. It was scaring, and they were fresh out of qualified therapist in the fleet. When he made the last turn in the corridor, he was wondering if he was going to see a sock on the hatch door when he came back. Scaring, very scaring.

* * *

Lee might have been in a good mood, after being in the meeting with Laura. But the same was not true for someone else, who watching a still image of the female president. The hard faced, dark haired man was staring at the image on the screen. And then without a thought, the glass flew from his hands as if it had a will of its own. It flew in a straight line into the screen projecting the high definition image, which had offended him so badly. He was lucky that the screen did not break with the impact of the cheap glass tumbler sticking against the device. It was not like he would be not, able to find another one. But it would be expensive, because they had no way to get more from the corner Colonial Entertainment store. He knew that he could always have one hand built, from one of the electronics ships. That is, if he had to.

Tom Zarek was very upset, but he was not alone in the room. So he could not do what he really wanted to do, if he was alone. It would have been seen as a loss of control. And the members of this group were people, who did not like others that could not control themselves at all times. Since they were human, they could and did understand anger. They even like anger to a point, because it gave them a powerful lever to use against that angered person. It gave them power over that person, and the people in this room. Let's just say that they were in love with acquiring more and more power over any of the other humans.

Tom looked around the room, after his fit of rage. It held only three members of the governing body, called the Quorum at this time. There should have been more of them in this room, but he had been suddenly losing power after his release from a cylon cell. Tom looked from the now wet projection screen, to the others in various locations in his room. He hopped that he was keeping most of the anger off of his face, and out of his voice. That was going to be about the only way that he would not lose any more power points to these few people.

"She was not supposed to give that information out to the public. Not until the Quorum had given the go ahead, to release only the facts that they had agreed to. She had lied to us again!" A little bit of spit flew out of Tom's mouth as he finished the last statement.

Laura had beaten Tom to the punch, again. He was going to "leak" the news, himself the morning of the planned briefing to the Quorum. It would have made Laura look bad, for keeping something like that a secret from the rest of the population. At the same time, it would make him look like the savior, for finding out what she had been hiding. And then being brave enough to risk getting the truth out to the people, which would have added even more point in his column. That plan went into the trash bin, with all the other plans that she and both of Adamas had made worthless by their action.

 _"_ _Why had it been so hard to get back on top, after the cylons had been defeated?_ " Tom had only just been released from prison barge a few weeks ago. Some thought, had had told him to his face. That it was only temporary, but Tom knew better.

From a dark corner, a voice carried up to the front of the room. "What do you thing, this setback is going to be?"

The setback, which he was referring to. It was the plan to get Laura and Bill Adama out of their positions of power within the fleet. With them out of the way? It would open the way for having one of their people to fall into their places of power and leadership with in the fleet. What Tom did not know, was that he was going to be the lamb thrown to the wolves. But only after they had taken the other people in this room had their hands on reins of power. After all, he had been caught rigging elections before.

 _"_ _Well at least someone was thinking about their jobs,"_ thought Tom and completely missing the subtext. "We are on the sidelines for the near future. If we called for a vote now? We will lose, big time. If we would have known about, the sixth month timeline for leaving before now? We would not have started talking about sending people back down to that hell hole of a planet, to live on. Now we will have to pay for that in political capital, which we are already short of, to cover up that mistake."

Tom shook his head, and started to pace around the small, dark room. "I bet Roslin kept that information close hold, just so we would walk into a trap farther down the line. Frak that woman is smart! I wonder, who she learned that little trick from. On second thought. I wonder if it was her or Bill's idea, to hold those particular facts back. I could now see how both of them, could have come up with that little twist to throw at us." All of the people in this room had known that they were going to leave, but the timing of the departure had never been talking about.

"If we don't call a vote soon? What happens, when the Earthers demand a say in our Government?" Asked the female Quorum member sitting in an expensive overstuffed chair holding a drink, she had not touched yet.

Tom was looking at the still image of Laura again, frozen on the screen. "I think that we can drag our feet on that one. Besides, I don't think the Earthers are looking to official join the Council of Twelve in the short term. We have six months left here in this system, and then we are going to be on the run again. What we need to work out. Is how long, it will take before our people get tired of the all of the jumping again?"

Tom snapped around snake quick, to face the rest of the people in this room. "We can put in a motion, to delay election. Let's just say for twelve months to eighteen months, from the start of us traveling between the stars. That should be around long enough, for the people to start getting tired of living in these Fraking ships again."

Tom had no idea, if it was a good delay or not. But he did not have that many cards, which he could play in this game as of right now. He had been counting on at least having few hundred people shifting back down planet side. He had felt that Bill and Laura would have sent armed marines down, to drag them back to the ships when it was time to leave. Now something like that? He could have used to start driving people and support back into his political track and away from Laura's control.

The people in front of Tom nodded their heads up and down, in silent agreement to the plan. It was not really a plan, and he had just pulled out of thin air right that second of him speaking. Tom was very good about thinking and pulling something workable out of the hat on little or very short notice.

A strong male voice spoke, but his face was all in shadow. He did this out of old habit, so it would have been hard to know who was speaking in a larger meeting. It lost most of the effect that he had wanted, but habits were hard to break.

"Now we need to figure out next. Is a way to stop this move, of having only real silver and gold cubits being used for all transactions around the fleet?"

This was very important issue, because these people in the room or who they were connected with. All had a lot of that paper money in their possession. The physical cubits, that were now being made and used more and more around the fleet. This had been driving down the buying power of that paper money at an alarming rate. And that rate had seemed to be accelerating with the ever increasing number of those silver and gold cubits in use by the average citizen of within the fleet. Without money? They were without one of the keys to their power and position, which they needed to keep a hold of.

This started another round of debating, on how they were going to try to stop another one of Laura's plans. They would come up with half a dozen different way to try to stop the current leader. Tom was not part of this debate. He could not tell anyone in this room, but he like the idea. It was giving power to the people he most identified with. He had a gut feeling that all the ideas they were kicking around were going to fail, anyway.

* * *

The next six months was a blur of work among the people in this hidden system. All most ever person that could help, did help out in some way, shape or form. Trees were selected, cut, dried, milled, and packed down on in cargo bays across the fleet. A long list of plants that had been found, that had a use. As many of them as could be found, were collected and stored. A special skills detail had been drawn up out of the Colonials and Earthers. They were to find and store seeds of all kinds from the planet for future use. While all of this was going on land. A different group were out collecting all of the sea food that they could catch, or find. The last week of work in this area, all most all of the rules were waved. It was judged that one week of over fishing, would not damage the local ecology in a long term way.

The Earther built facility to make plastic, was also work every hour of every day and night for those last six months. They had even added as many people as they could, to each of those working shifts. This production was augmented by what was being taken from the Algae vats, to make a well-known Colonial brand of cheap but very useful Plastic. Any of the plastic that was not being used or needed to protect the food and other items? It was packed down as tightly as they could. And it was stored along with the extra wood and leather going up to the little fleet of spaceships.

The clay storage area was filled, and even topped off as it was used in the production of ship killing nuclear weapons. When the fleet was about ready to leave, one last mission would be sent down to pick up the last fifty tons of the Lithium rich clay, what was sitting near the mining site. Besides picking up that last load of clay, there last task would be to then cover up the whole mining site. This extra detail was not going to be needed for the underwater mine, that produces the primary component for the nuclear weapons. That mine was able to pull out a total of 50,000 tons of the raw ores, from those hard to reach vines. The mine was nowhere near used up. Even on the last day of mining the ore was still almost as good as the first days of mining.

The ship and the crew of the ship refining the ores had enough ore on hand, for only about six weeks of high production. Admiral Adama had wanted to carry more, but storage space was starting to become a major issue all across the fleet. It was with a very sad heart, which he had agreed to shut down those important mines. He knew that they had pulled more out, than he could have ever hopped for. All in such a short timeline, that it was in bad form to want to much more.

When the last of greenhouses crops were ready, most were harvested normally. But a lot of the planets were allowed to go all the way to seed, before they were taken out of the ground. The seeds would be needed, to continue growing all of the fresh food needed for the fleet on the next leg of the trip. After each of the largest growing boxes was empty, it would be broken down into its recoverable parts. The key parts that could be reused, were salvaged and put pack in the dawdling amount of open cargo spaces. In the end, it took two weeks longer than planned to complete all of needed task. But soon everything was ready, for the next phase of living for everyone carried in the Rag Tag Fleet.


	12. Chapter 12 first steps on a long road

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 12 First Steps on a Long Road**

New Caprica, 1,130 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 4 years 6 months AT

The space around the hidden planet was again busy with odd sources of heat and light flashing on and off all over the place. They were like little pinpricks of energy against the colorful gases of the nebula around them. The last of the engine checks had been completed, and any repairs that were needed or might even be needed in the future had been completed. Everyone's nerves were stretched to the breaking point with the workload they had been forced to endure.

All of the results from the final tests of the ships had been reported to the flagship and tracked almost in real time at the Combat Information Center. Each ship had had to undergo a series of tests before it could be cleared as ready for the next leg of the trip Bill Adama had planned out. They only had six months to make sure all of the ships were ready, and Admiral Adama was not going to risk a ship breaking down in the early stages of the mission. At least not until they were some distance from this location that was already known to the Cylons.

The thin cloud of escorting small craft was brought back aboard the two warships in a steady but unhurried fashion. The final countdown began five minutes after the only remaining hangar bay of the old battlestar had been safely pulled in close to her main hull. The humans, Cylon POW's, and Cylons working with them were all leaving. They would be leaving this whole sector of space, most likely for the last time for centuries. This area of space would be marked on navigational charts like certain other locations on maps of old. It would have the Colonial equivalent of 'There Be Monsters Here'. All of the star charts and other information about the area, from the nebula going all the back to what was once Colonial controlled space, all of that data would be archived away on a few of the ships of the fleet. Bill did not want to take a chance on that information being lost for future generations. Like the planet Kobol had been to his people.

Back on the planet's surface, in the area around where the Colonies had landed after their long trip from their home planets, it was all quiet. The only movement was the occasional piece of paper or plastic flowing with the breeze as it moved across the slowly recovering muddy field. Still visible were the outlines where some of the larger and heavier spacecraft had landed in the muddy field. After that first landing none of them had moved. Not until they lifted off of the planet the day the Cylons were defeated.

IF one were to look just a little closer, under a few places in the thin layer of mud and young plants might still be found some of the wood used to make some of the shacks that had now been knocked flat. They had provided shelter to the refugees, now they had been left behind. And underneath all that, something was off. The humans were not leaving this planet untouched or unmodified by their actions or inactions.

The tunnels that had been used by the humans to evade the Cylons, were now being used again. But it was not being used by humans or Cylons anymore. Something else was calling those damp and dark places home. The tarps camouflaging the entryway had fallen in on two of the tunnel openings. Who knows when it might have happened? The Cylons had not found them in their short stay on this planet. That might change on their next visit, not that finding them would help them understand what had happened to the humans.

Now all of the tunnels and storage areas were being used by a rapidly growing populating of Colonial rats. They were not the only land animals now living in the area, either. But they were the fastest growing in raw population numbers. Deep in the tunnels and in a slowly expanding area above ground, the small hitchhikers were expanding their foothold on another planet once again. Just as the Rifts took animals from all over the Megaverse and deposited them into the oceans of this cold planet, the exact same thing was now happening on the only major landmass on this world.

Halfway around the planet, in The Settlement that Rifts Earth's people had set up, things were both alike and different from where New Caprica had been set up. From above, anyone flying over would only have seen a section of the heavy wooded area separated by a slice of overgrown grassland. That slice between the two tree covered areas was open to the sky, but even now a few saplings were starting to grow above the weeds. Protected from view by the trees branches overhead, the wood clad concrete wall was still standing proudly against whatever the wind, rain, and salt could do to it.

There had been some debate on whether to leave the access gates open or to leave them locked shut. Captain Kelly had settled the matter when he told them that if anyone came from Earth, they should be able to either make it over the undefended wall or just walk around it to the opened watergate.

So all the land gates were closed and locked behind the last person to leave the area. The dock was still there, and still concealed by the forest canopy. All its entrances, along with all the homes, had their doors locked. About the only things that had been removed from the homes besides personal and household items were the homemade E-clip adapters to power the rooms. The only adapters that had been left in those buildings were the ones put together with local materials only. They were not considered that safe for long term use and not worth storage space they would take up on one of the already overcrowded ships.

Also left behind were some fruit trees that would never bear fruit again. That is, as long as there were no bees or some other means to pollinate the flowers. They would, however, grow bigger every year and bloom flowers. In Warehouse One, some sealed packages of dried fruit were left behind in protective storage, along with some common hand tools that might prove the difference between life and death for any newcomers to this world. Those were not the only things left behind by the people from Earth.

The chickens that had been released, both by accident and on purpose, over the last few years were growing in numbers in the nearby forest. Now that humans were no longer taking their eggs, this population had the potential to explode into massive numbers of animals in a short length of time. They were eating the low growing planets, some of the green soft wood higher in the trees, and even the occasional clam shell that washed up onto the beach. Those shells would add calcium to help the eggshells retain more heat and increase the number of eggs that survived to hatch.

Those birds in time would also start to eat some of the insects that had been left behind unnoticed by the humans. The insects would slowly march across the planet from this location. It would be slowed somewhat, due to the chickens eating them in ever growing numbers. But they will not be able to eat them all, and insects hatched in numbers measured in the thousands per month. The chickens would also find out that there were predators in the water. And some of those predators were watching them as they feasted at the waterline of the beaches.

In a few short months, after the humans had left the planet, the first large, fat, and slow chicken was caught while it was wading in the water looking for more shells. The predator was a type of whale, and it used a small wave to surf to the shore. With the speed boost provided by the wave, it was able to snatch the flight limited bird right off of the wet sand. Then it wiggled its long and lean body back to the deep water to enjoy its meal of flesh, bones, and feathers. Soon other animals would learn the trick. And the evolution of chickens and water predators would move forward to see which would be ready for the next phase in the contest to determine who would dominate this world now that all of the humans had left it alone again. It would also kickstart changes in this planet's animal life.

But that was in the future or a possible future. At the moment, above the cold wet planet, the humans were getting ready to leave this whole star system. The place that at first hid them, then imprisoned them.

* * *

Captain Kelly was looking out the massive window. Well, they were massive for a combat spaceship. Such rarely ever had windows on their bridges. Kelly and his crew filled the bridge of the converted seagoing warship almost to overcapacity. They were taking in the amazing sights of the nebula from orbit for maybe the last time in their lives. Almost a million images of varying quality would be taken on this day from this point of view and a few others. They would grace computer screens as screen savers for decades to come.

It was a breathtaking sight, even for the Colonials who had been in space a lot longer than the Earthers had been. This was going to be only the third jump for Kelly and his ship, now attached to the side of the old Colonial battlestar by dozens of cables and a few kilometers of thick metal welds. They had done two short test jumps, and everything had seemed to be fine with the workmanship. This, however, was going to be a longer jump than Kelly and his ship had done so far. And they were going to make two quick jumps instead of the just the one they had done in testing.

The total distance that they would be covering in that pair of jumps was equal to one that the warships and some of the other civilian ships could have done in just one jump. But that was only possible through their more powerful interstellar drives. This movement would involve the whole fleet, and some of the other smaller or older ships could not travel that long of a distance in one activation of their jump engines.

The reason Kelly was looking out the damage resistant see-through armor that was like glass was that they were now short on raw materials to make more armor plates to cover them. If they were attacked, the blast shields that his old ship still carried would drop into place. They would cover the windows, but they were not even close to being air tight. Not to mention that they would be hard as frak to get back into the storage positions.

The flight plan that they were following was going to lead them all to the area in the nebula that the Pegasus and her support ships had found and already mined repeatedly. The mining ships would quickly extract as much raw ore as they needed to fill their own cargo holds and the much smaller cargo space for the manufacturing ships' ready supply. The second largest area of storage that would need to be filled was what had come to be called The Void. That space that had formed as the Earther made ships were attached to the old battlestar. Every ship in the fleet would be carrying a few hundred extra tons of ore. Even Colonial One would be carrying two hundred tons of ore in its eighty-four and a half meter long hull.

The whole fleet could not stay long before they would have to move further away from the hidden system and eventually out of the protection that the strange nebula gave them all together. On the trip out, as ores were used, more would be transferred to the few manufacturing ships in the fleet. First to be offloaded would be the excess ores on ships with the largest number of passengers. The last area planned to be emptied would be The Void.

In the flagship's CIC, Admiral Adama and Colonel Saul Tigh were watching a countdown clock as it worked its way down to zero. At the ten second mark, Felix started counting out loud. It was now the new procedure. He had picked it up from a few dozen Earth made movies he had seen over the last few months. When Felix said the word zero, it meant the clock said zero. Things started to happen to the ships in orbit around the planet, without any commands needing to come from the flagship.

"Sir, Pegasus is away." Felix did a pause, as the screen that had every ship's name displayed on it slowly went from white, to black, and then gone.

"Ten ships are away. More jumping, they are maintaining specified intervals between ships." Felix was not looking around the CIC as he spoke. He only had eyes for the most important display at this time.

Adama looked over to the Damage Control station, halfway between him and Felix' station. "Contact the Lucky Find and the Neptune's Revenge, ask if there are any issues. Ones that will prevent our jump." He did not have to tell which station to make the call. Through training, Damage Control would contact each ship's fully manned CIC or Bridge to get the needed information for the fleet commander.

Adama did not think that there would be any issues. It there had been any issues, his money was on their notifying him or his staff right away. It was his considered opinion that the Earthers were even more excited to leave this system than his own people where. He just wanted a check done just in case he was wrong. This was too important a mission to be put at risk through a simple miscommunication.

Damage Control received the quick reply, which was also expected. Well, the promptness of it was somewhat expected. The actual content of the reply, on the other hand, was not. The twenty-three year old enlisted person who took the reply had to choke back a snort as he heard the message before passing along the reply from one of the Earther ships to the command center's master.

"Sir, they report ready to jump. Captain Kelly asked... _When are you going to kick this pig, and get this show on the road?_ " The young man could not help but let out a slight bit of laughter as he finished relaying the asked for report.

Adama's head snapped up to look in the direction of the voice, and then over to look at Saul across the lighted table. "Well that is another one to put in the books. I don't like them calling my ship a pig. But I have to agree with them about being ready to finally get going. I have been ready to see new stars for some time now."

Bill turned to face Felix fully, and his face was like stone. He spoke in a loud but very clear voice to carry to every corner of the room. "Mr. Gaeta, you may jump as soon as the last civilian ship has gone. Do not wait for my orders. They are right. It is past time to get this show on the road. Let's all say goodbye to this frakking place."

On the bridges of the Revenge and the Lucky Find, everyone was working to the high standard that was expected of them. Their spirits were sky high. Each person on the respective command bridges had a complete set of EBA on, sealed and ready for the worst. Every one took turns checking each other as the time to jump neared. If something went very wrong, they would be ready. The final checks of those suits were suggested by Adama himself, because of the glass windows on those two converted water vessels. Even with the two test jumps, he did not have that much faith in the windows maintaining integrity.

Kelly had faith that the windows would hold, for at least a few more jumps. He had seen his armored glass hold up to heavy rail gun strikes, and even a few magic fireballs exploding against them. But less than a dozen jumps did not make him an expert on the damn things, so he made sure that everyone adapted to the new rules sent out by the fleet commander. He had to put his foot down on over a hundred different people requesting to be in EBA, but standing outside the hull of one of the ships during the jump. He had not thought that a good idea, but he did check around with the experts.

When Kelly had asked Chief Tyrol about whether it was safe or not, the Chief had turned very pale, and was speechless for more than a few seconds. That look alone had been enough for to answer Kelly's question, but the Chief went into a bit more detail after picking up his jaw off the deck. He explained what might happen to anyone outside on a ship's hull while it jumped an interstellar distance. It had not been a pretty description. You might have been okay hearing it, as long as you had not just eaten something in the last few hours.

Kelly added a command to 'Dog all Hatches,' set for one hour before jump, to the ship's slowly growing pre-jump check list. It had been added to the Find's checklist as well even if she did not have the right hull orientation for someone to try to do something like that, it was a just in case order for them. People can do the dumbest things, even when more than a few someones had taken precautions to stop those events from happening in the first place.

The bridge crews did not have much to do other than to make sure that nothing happened to the modified ships. So there were more eyes on the windows of the command area, and they became some of the first Earthers to ever see an FTL jump with their own eyes in full panoramic color. It was just an odd flash, stars seemingly stretching as space bent around them, and then they were in a different star system before their eyes and brains could possess what was happening to their bodies.

The only way for the crews to know this was a new star system was that the yellow star they were used to seeing had now been replaced by a larger field of fainter stars floating around them. Without the overwhelming output of the yellow star drowning out the dimmer star through out the area. This was a true spectacle to see with the naked eyes. Now they could also see the full effect of the backlit nebula very clearly. It was like looking at the dawn of creation, with an amazing amount of pin pricks of white light visible and a truly awesome mix of different colors.

Kelly wanted to just look at the amazing display of light through the strong windows of his bridge, but he had a lot to do with the running of his ship. Later he would remember how he would catch himself gazing out the bridge windows whenever he could. That is until they had finally left the nebula behind them, and they could only see black with white dots of light out the heavy and clear armored glass.

This was the first time the Revenge had been out of the hidden star system. The few test jumps that had been done were shorter, limited to within the one hidden star system itself. They just did not have the time to run the entire list of tests they had been able to do with the Lucky Find. Kelly was just thinking that his crew was too quiet, but just before he said something, Joe's voice boomed out across the bridge, and shocked everyone out of their dazed looks.

"All departments, all sections report!" The second in command of the warship took charge of the situation with one simple command.

He did not have to give the order a second time. By the time the wave of nausea had passed from the sudden head movements, the rest of the ship's crew had already started the checks to make sure each area in the great ship was okay. It had only been the crew members next to the windows that where still stunned into inaction.

In less than two minutes, both Earther ships were able to report to the Battlestar's CIC that they were good to go for the second interstellar jump. They did not have to rush like they did to get the report to the flagship's CIC, but it was a matter of pride to get the tasks done quickly and more importantly correctly. In fact, they were the first command centers to let the flag know that they were all good to go for the next leg.

* * *

The next jump was scheduled for four hours after the last ship had completed the jump to this empty spot between the stars. The spot in space was assessed as still being under the cover provided by the strange nebula against the Cylons. They could have jumped again in less than an hour, but that would have put more unneeded stress on the civilian crews and passengers. More importantly it would stress the engines, which the Admiral did not want to do just yet. Not unless it was an emergency, and he had no other choice. The Admiral was betting that there would be more than enough stress put on those engines before too long.

As each ship jumped to this location, it contacted the Battlestar Pegasus. She had been the first combat ship to reach this location. By the time the CIC of the Pegasus had a head count, it was ready for when the old warship appeared. The information was transmitted to the flagship's CIC in one short burst of coded data. Only a small handful of small craft were launched from either of the warships as the fleet of human ships sat unmoving in the void between stars. This was more a just in case than any real threat of attack.

Most of those craft were fully armed training units. They were using the time to practice combat launches and landings. They had until the countdown clock was down to the thirty minute line before the next jump. At ten minutes before jumping, the last Vipers landed in one of the four landing areas on the Mercury Class Battlestar. This was also a good way for the deck crews of the warship to get some training in. More training often led to less bleeding.

Two Raptors launched just before the countdown clock had run all of the way down to zero. They did not land on any ship in the little fleet. Instead they jumped out to the next location for the fleet. This was both a training event, and a just in case plan. They had eight minutes to scan the target system, and report back to the Colonial Flagship. But only if the pair found that some kind of trouble was waiting there for the Colonial Fleet with not so friendly intentions. If they did not pick up anything on their sensors, then they would just wait for the fleet to join them at this new location.

This mission plan was the exact opposite of normal operational procedures for scouting using Raptors. Normally, the plan would have been that if the Raptors did not come back, then the fleet would jump somewhere else. That was in case it was Cylons stopping the pair of Raptors from returning to their mother ships and reporting in. It was just that this was not likely to happen. And changing up the way you operated can be a good thing from time to time.

The primary mission of the pair of Raptors was to get readings on all of the ships as they jumped in to this new location. The larger warships could get this type of data, but could only be in one spot at a time. So, with the Raptors, they would get some data from three different vantage points all at the same time. Afterwards, the data would be combined and analyzed for any issues that might be present. This was something that should have been done a year ago, but the Colonials simply had too many other things going on to do the job. With this baseline data, travel would be faster and maybe a little more fuel efficient. Particularly if a problem was found early.

This was a new system for the rest of the fleet. The human ships would be staying in this spot for some length of time. At least compared to the other visits to this part of the nebula. It was a failed star system, centered on a very small brown dwarf class star. It was just too small to have become a full blown star, along with some other issues, and complete the job of becoming a giver of light and life. This area of the nebula had been very sparse in the lighter groups of elements. Maybe sometime in the future, this group of rocky bodies would come closer to a larger and brighter star still in or near the nebula. Maybe it would donate those rocks to the hotter star. It could help by adding some much needed heavier elements to the life cycles of that system's orbiting bodies.

However, right now it did have almost all of the raw materials that the mining ships needed to supply the manufacturing ships with what they needed to keep them functioning at peak output. The only two things that would not need to be pulled from this system were O2 and H2O. Then again all of the ships had topped off in water ice or liquid water from the occupied human settlement while they were still getting ready for the trip.

The twin mining ships were even able to pull out a few extra hundred kilograms of precious metals while they were pulling industrial ores from the bit of orbital debris. Over half of the precious metals went to the Colonial government in the form of taxes and fees. The rest of those valuable metals were split between the crew members of those two ships. This ready access to a good physical payment system had made requests to be assigned to these ships a growing problem for both ships' captains and for Admiral Adama. Those two ships would not be short of crew members any time soon, but that could be a problem also. All of the ship's captains thought it would get worse before it got better. Luckily Laura and her Vice President were already working on the issue.

But first they had to get the metal out of the rocks in that failed system. For now, they were still recovering from the last jump. Adama was reviewing a file about this system spread out on his plotting table. He had reviewed that file a dozen times already. Part of his mind knew that he would not find anything new. But another part of his brain demanded that he keep looking at the file, just in case he had missed something. When all of the checks had been done, and a few minutes longer. Bill gave the orders.

"Saul, please contact the mining ships. They can move out whenever they're ready to start operations and as soon as their masters command it. Remind them that they are to stay in the nearest mapped sectors in relation to the rest of the Fleet. If they need to move to any of the different plotted areas, they are to contact us first for approval before moving to them."

Bill stopped talking and then got a lost look in his eyes for a few moments. When he turned slightly, the look was gone. He had a sly grin on his face. "Saul, I think it's time to have drill."

Saul smiled at his longtime friend, and his smile went into pure evil mode. "I always liked the way you think Bill." He walked over to his station, raised his chronometer, then gave Lieutenant Gaeta a look. Saul really loved being the XO of a warship. He could let the darker parts of his personality out to play, without needing a leash. "Lieutenant, you know what to do."

All across the flagship, the speakers started blaring out alarms that rapidly grew in volume, letting the whole ship know something was coming. "Action stations! Action stations! Set Condition One throughout the ship!"

Saul moved the three steps back to Bill's side, chronometer still in hand. The evil little smile had not left his face the whole time. Both men had zero difficulty having a mental picture for each department, as they went through the surprise combat drill. Action stations was the equivalent of battle stations in some navies.

The elder Adama looked around the CIC. He noticed right away that they were not moving very fast. And Bill felt his blood pressure start to rise to a dangerous level. He did not have to boom out the next command, but simply raised his voice just a little bit to get the job done.

"Okay people! We're on the clock. Move it, move it. You all know what you're supposed to do. Let's get to it"

Those simple orders had the desired effect. It did light a fire under everyone, and their training kicked in full force. This was not just going to be a test for the Colonial Fleet personnel, but also for the Earthers on the two attached ships. They were going to have to react just like the rest of them during any attacks by Cylons or anything else for that matter. It should be a learning experience, for better or worse, for all of the combat and support crews on the flagship. They were now all parts of the modified Battlestar.

On the Lucky Find, the limited fire control systems of the vessel were brought fully online. The six sets of twin auto cannons and the two missile launchers silently powered up out of standby mode and made ready to fire at any identified threat. They turned in their mounts to cover their assigned arcs and started feeding data to all three of the ship's command centers in a growing wave of information. Each weapon system was assigned a section of the hull to defend from any would be attackers. The weapons would track back and forth within it, looking for a target to find or engage. There was a little overlap with adjacent weapon systems, just in case of any leakers or battle damage opening a hole in the defensive network.

From the twin airlocks mounted on the converted Handy Max sized freighter, two Vipers were launched into space. They were moving a lot slower compared to the growing number of Vipers that were launching from specially designed tubes on the other side of the fleet flagship. As soon as the elevators recycled from launching those Colonial made craft, a dozen walking armored Earther bodies exited the redeploying landing pads. They were going to add their firepower into the equation. If any attackers got within three thousand meters of the massive warship that was carrying their home, they were going to need this additional firepower. If any Cylon got that close to the Battlestar, they were going to be in for a very rude surprise.

On the Revenge, the same thing was going on. Only she had more weapons, but she did not have any Vipers to launch to thicken the defense of the fleet. It did have Cargo Bay One instead, and that was a completely different kettle of fish. That cargo bay had a full set of redundant airlocks already built into it by a group of professionals. Still no one was allowed in this area unless they were in EBA or heavier armor. And they would need to have an attached safety line as soon as they exited the last hatch. This was strictly enforced now that the ship was out in death pressure.

Once the captain gave the order, the air would be pumped out until only a few parts per million were left to fill the void of the old cargo bay. The massive twin doors over their heads would then open, letting the combat troops come blasting out of the enclosed space on space rated and tested thrusters. In this way, thirty armored troopers could be deployed at a time to put their very high tech firepower into action on the ship's outer hull. They would be the last line of defense in that area of the ship. With the loss of the hangar pod, that area did not have the normal close in defense weapons for a Battlestar.

Colonel Tigh would have a field day berating his deck crews for weeks in the future. The Earthers had put all of their agreed upon numbers into space. All before an equal number of Colonials were able to launch to defend the ship. It did not take both Adama's and Saul too long to conclude that the Earthers had been ready for a surprise drill of some kind. Bill made a note to check into that later.

Although impressed with the results that the newcomers were able to come up with, Bill Adama made a note to be somewhat sneakier in the future when it came to surprise drills. He would have to wait until Saul got all of his satisfaction out on the deck crews, before he could pull another ship wide drill. But he would do it again, even if he ended up having to lose some sleep to get it done. It just was not right that strangers could have a better response time than the Colonial Fleet.

* * *

They would spend a week at this one location within the nebula. The mining ships had been pulling material off of a dozen different orbiting bodies around the system. As the mining ships worked, they would offload the recovered bounty to fill the limited cargo storage space left in the fleet. It was almost funny that the old battlestar had the most room left for the ore compared to any of the other ships in the fleet. That was thanks to the space added by enclosing the void caused by the little slipping of the Lucky Find. Now it would seem that this little accident was going to turn out to be a huge benefit.

After those ships were topped off, the refined ores were sent to the manufacturing ships that had been running at maximum capacity even before they had left the last star system. Those ships took on more of the needed ores than any Colonial safety inspector would have allowed a few years ago. But that was back before the new war had started, and the humans had lost it. Now the idea was that you did whatever needed to be done for the rest of humanity to survive. That was worth a risk rated at a few million to one to happen.

In fact the ships were so overloaded that the refined ore was overflowing into all of the common areas on both of those classes of ships. It was very unsafe as all frak, but Bill and the mining ships' captains did not have any idea when they would find any more of the needed supplies or when they could take the time to collect them. It could be weeks or even months down the road before all of this overflow was used up by the ships of fleet. Only a few people around the fleet complained about the overflowing ores. None of them said it more than once in public. The peer pressure and back lash had been overwhelming.

All the while that they were in this failed star system, very few ships were not doing what they could to put the finishing touches to get ready for a long trip. They all were working as hard as they could, with fresh and motivated crews to do even the most horrific tasks. That meant that they were pulling material in and out of storage, so that they could get stuff out to the fleet. What they did not know was the Earther ships were in the same condition. Maybe even more so, because with their lack of experience in space, they did not know what should not or could not be done in space. They made just a few mistakes.

Two things threw the timeline to leave this failed system off from what had been originally planned on by the command staff. First was that the ship refining the ore for nuclear weapons had been able to process two thousand tons of stored ore of different types while the rest of the mining ships were at work in the rubble belts. All of that mass was reduced into another batch of one-fifty kilogram ingots of weapons grade product. That left almost two thousand tons of cargo space now open for other types of ores to fill.

The other issue was that all of the Earther ship's armor production plants were working overtime as well as all of their now greatly expanded machine shops. Not all of the items that were made were released into the fleet for current use. But those finished products took up less space than the ores that had been used to make them.

Bill and Laura were not going to leave that storage space empty. So, even more ore than planned were pulled out of the slightly reduced total number of small asteroids in this system. Normal maximum output had been only about twenty sheets of the four foot by four foot plates every day, but thanks to adding extra shifts of willing hands, this was now the base number made each day per plant. It might wear out some of the machines quicker, but with access to the Colonial repair ships that was not going to be as big an issue to have to deal with or plan for. At least compared to the way it had been before the two groups met.

Who knows? After a few years, maybe the Colonials would be able to make their own armor plate. If only from their slowly expanding knowledge base, collected just through making all of the spare parts for those four groups of productive machines. The downside was, that it would just add to the already long list of things that was being made with the Colonials' limited production capabilities. All the little things needed just to keep the fleet moving somewhat safely. No big deal for this rag tag fleet of refugees, right?

All of those newly made plates were earmarked already for use. They were to start working on a third layer of armor plate being put over the Void storage area. The plan now was that as soon as the fifth layer was done and installed, then production output would be focused somewhere else. The plan was for covering any areas that were thin and critical to the flagship's operation next. Like the bridges of the two ocean vessels, or portholes on those ship's sides. These areas were going to take a lot of new armor plates.

There were longer ranged plans to start putting more armor on the exposed ribs of the old battlestar. That would be months down the road at best, never at worst. It would give lots of people jobs to do, to occupy them on the long boring trip through interstellar space. It had not been done when they were running for their lives the first time. That was for the simple reason that no one had thought about needing to do something like that back then. By comparison, some people now had some time to think about those days.

This time the fleet's key leadership had time to plan, and plan, and counterplan what they wanted to happen next. Some of the fleet's political players had been expecting to have a bunch of bored, scared, and powerless people that could be easily seduced to their plots. Plots that could then be unleashed on the current leadership of the Colonial people. Without these uneasy conditions in place around the fleet and allowed to simmer on high heat, there was not going to be a fertile ground to recruit from nor a powder keg to ignite. None that could be used to take power.

The Galactica would be watching over as most of the fleet topped off their holds with the last few thousand tons of raw ore being mined. At the same time, the more powerful Battlestar, Pegasus, would take the ships that were optimized to retrieve and store the specialized fuel the ships needed to a different system. The last recoverable sources of Tylium had been mined out of this system three days after the whole fleet had arrived.

This smaller group would stay at the new location until the rest of the fleet joined back up with them at the new mining site. Why waste the fuel, which might run short later on this quest? Besides, it was on the way, and it would put the whole fleet closer to getting back onto the original planned out schedule. It was not that big of a risk, as long as the large Battlestar was close by to those highly trained crews and specialized ships.

So it was that from one failed system, the human crewed ships winked out of space and into another area of the nebula. This time the system they arrived in was dominated by a red dwarf class star. Surprisingly, this one star system had three full sized planets in it, all about the same size as Mars, back in the Sol system. It also had six other large orbital bodies, each about the size of the moon Titan. They just did not have a gas giant to circle around to keep them warm. They were like normal planets, only a lot smaller.

The major orbiting bodies went around the star, all on their own paths dictated by speed and a little luck. One was even in an odd retrograde orbit going around the Red dwarf. It was this one small planet that the three ships of the Colonial fleet were closing in on for the work that needed to be done. They all were still there when the rest of the rag tag fleet jointed them in this odd little spot of the nebula covered space.

When the old warship finally jumped to this location in the small nebula, the son was waiting for his Head Master to talk to him. As the post jump systems were checked, and reported their status to CIC, a message was sent from the newer Battlestar to the oldest Battlestar. The message had taken some time to come up with, and Lee could not wait to send it to his father when the rest of the fleet finally joined up again.

"Sir, message from Pegasus Actual, message reads... I was getting worried about you and the old girl. Do you need a tow or something?" The communication officer had a hard time keeping from snorting as he read the message aloud to the rest of the flagship's command staff.

Felix's head snapped over to look at the offender who was speaking negatively about the flagship, and his eyes were wide. That would have been his or Dee's job to read that message. However each of them would have been smart enough, or experienced enough, to not to have done it that way. He made a note to have a private training session for the speaker, as soon as their shifts were over.

Saul's eyes went huge and a red line started racing up from his neck line and did not stop till it was at the top of his bald head and his ear tips.

"Why that little frakker! He's getting chucky with us. Bill, I think you might have to put him over your knee again the next time you see him. Maybe we need to have a few friendly war-games between us soon. When we kick his butt, he will respect his elders. I think he has forgotten that we are the flagship and not his flea bag." Saul took another breath, and he was about to add a few more details. He stopped when his boss made eye contact with him.

Bill Adama was also a little mad at the message his son had sent. "Saul, I think that is a frakking great idea! But keep it under your hat, for now. I don't want him getting ready for it before we spring it on him. Communication! Message to Pegasus Actual from me."

Back over on the larger warship, the CIC was busy with mirth and a few off color jokes being passed around. They all were about the jab that had been sent to the flagship by their Commander. Dee stopped talking and her right hand flew to her hear, to help her hear what was being said. Then she had to fight very hard to hide a smile, at the response from the flagship. The return message from the flagship had come in, and as she expected, it had a zinger attached to it. You had to be careful when poking a bear like Bill Adama, even if you were his son. Maybe especially if you were his son. She was going to have to remind him that she had told him his message was not a good idea in the first place

"Sir, message from Galactica Actual," she did not wait for her husband to ask what the message might be.

"Message reads... It's not about youth or size. You would know after last month in The Ring. That is, if you can still remember it after all those hits I gave to your skull."

Dee had to fight even harder not to have her voice crack while reciting the message out loud. She had been the one to help wrap Lee's ribs after that boxing match. "Sir, message ends. Would you like to send a reply to the Flagship?"

She cocked her head to one side, as she waited to see what her husband might say. She was looking right at her husband and she raised one eye brow, waiting. She had a flash of a memory of something her father had said. _'You need to be careful of the old lion, age and wisdom with overcome youth and vigor.'_

Apollo smiled, and did a quick turn around the CIC. "Well, it looks like the Old Man is in a mood today. I must have hit a nerve somewhere with my comment."

This got a round of chuckles again from the crew members under his command. He kept a sly smile that some might have known was fake. He still felt sometimes that he was still in the shadow cast by both Cain and his father. He wanted his crew to know that he was a real commander, and not scared of his father that was also the fleet commander.

"XO please let the flag know that we will be ready to depart in eighteen hours, just as planned." He was not ready to cross verbal swords again with his father. He knew that he was going to hear about this event later from both Dee, and his father when he had time to see him next time. He did not doubt that even a year later, his father was going to remember that message. That could be good, or it could be bad

Dee, the Second in Command and communication officer, looked down at her station, and in a few seconds looked back at her husband and commander. "Sir, message sent and acknowledged. Plan is to leave in eighteen hours, but it is contingent on engineering reports from the little friends in the rest of the fleet."

The 'little friends' was the name given to the civilian fleet. Only three ships in the whole fleet were close to the size of the either of the two remaining battlestars. This was the accepted nickname for the rag tag fleet. It was a lot nicer than most of the other names used to describe that part of the fleet at most of the bars around the fleet.

* * *

That evening on the old Battlestar, a dinner was set out. It had only a two place setting, and the one item missing was some Earther beer or Colonial Ambrosia to have with the meal. This was going to be a working meal. And both of the men that would be eating together tonight had a long list of problems to deal with. The pair were almost always on shift, so having their minds dulled by those drinks was not an acceptable situation for the near future. The settings on the table were just waiting for someone to take a seat by them.

Adama was finishing up some paperwork on his desk, and looking over at the hot food on the dining table nearby. It had been dropped off only about five minutes ago. And already the smells were starting to affect him, his mouth watering and his stomach rumbling as part of his mind let evolution take over. He was almost relieved when the knock sounded on his hatch ninety seconds before he expected to have his next scheduled requirement show up. He was also hoping that this would be his last task for the shift.

Adama walked over and opened the hatch, instead of giving the command to enter. He knew who was on the other side, and it was not right to order someone of that rank to enter his domain. Not when they were almost considered a near peer, or close enough to it. It was an old military custom for both cultures that if you were on time you were already late. If you were ten minutes early, you were on time. It seemed like the Earthers had the same view about showing up to appointments. Bill knew how hard that was as his mission had changed over the last few years.

Bill opened the hatch. And as soon as it was opened enough to be polite. He addressed the man standing in the ship's corridor. "Captain Kelly, thank you for joining me for dinner tonight. I hope I did not interrupt any of your plans on such short notice."

Kelly smiled back at the Admiral, standing in the now open hatch. "Thank you for the invite Admiral. I hope you like fruit juice. It's normal in our culture to bring wine or something like it to meetings like this one. But I understand that you go back on duty in a few hours."

Adama stepped away from the hatch and waved for the other man to enter his work and living space. "Fruit juice is fine. After so long without it, it is going to be a while before being able to have more than one small glass of it every few days gets old. Besides, good Ambrosia needs time to age in a cask. I hope that your supply of fruit juice will allow the current batches to spend at least some time in wood before filling a glass somewhere on my ship."

The two men had a nice dinner and had some small talk, while they ate a Colonial themed meal. Kelly had an idea of why he had been invited to the private dinner on short notice. He had worked with other navies in his time. And he knew from personal experience that a senior leader needed to have a feel for everyone in a leadership position within his command. Kelly had no idea what issue might be on the Admiral's mind. So he had planned on waiting to let the other man bring up whatever he needed to on his own timeline.

Adama had been working out how best to handle what needed to be done and after the main course, he decided to charge straight into the guns. He had worked a few times with Planetary Guard Units attached to his command. He did not think that this was going to be anything like that. Those Guard Units were based on the Colonial military model and manned most of the time by ex-Colonial Military personnel, or at least trained by ex-Colonial Military for months or even years. He had been working with this commander for some time now, but this was going to be the last chance to make sure they were on the same sheet of music. At least now they did not need the translator computer to work through any complex social issues.

"Captain Kelly. I wanted to talk to you. We are living in a strange universe now. It is a lot stranger than we believed possible back before my people first met yours. I read the briefing your people put together on your key crew members and personalities, so I know that you have worked within a few different command structures before. You also have had different roles at different times within one fleet or another back on your home planet. This is new to me, so I wanted to have some time just to talk, man to man. Just you and me. All without too much of the politics we have to deal with normally getting in the away."

Kelly smiled at the Colonial Admiral, and took a sip of the cold fruit juice. As he returned the glass to the table top, he looked at the other man. He kept his gaze level and did not let his face show any emotion. This was looking more and more like a job interview, and he decided to use that as a benchmark on how he addressed this unasked question.

"Yes, I was a mercenary. But feel free to fire away. I and my people have no problem with that term to describe what we did for a living. So, you don't have to tiptoe around it, if you don't want to. I look at it this way, Admiral. We go where we're needed, and then leave when we're done. As I see the current situation, we are going to be working together for a while. We can do what needs to be done, and it does not matter how dirty it might have to get. If you have questions about me and my crew, ask. I'm not paid well enough to lie. I have been around long enough that I've developed a pretty thick skin about most things. Unlike some political types we both have been dealing with over the last few months."

Kelly let a slight smile come to his face, and he was still working out how many different ways this meeting was going to work out. By now, he thought that he had a very good read on most of the major players in this band of refugees. It seems like now was going to be the time that he found out for sure, one way or the other.

Adama felt the room get colder around him, and it was not due to the air circulator. He tried to explain himself, before he thought that he might have ruined a relationship so early. He heard the words, but he was having a hard time believing that they meant what he thought they did. For one of the few times in his life, he was not comfortable with both his knowledge base and his skill sets.

"Captain Kelly, I have no question about your skills, or that of your crew. I just want to get more used to you. You and your people have already proven a great asset to my people, but we know so little about you. So much so, that I don't know if you could help in other places around the fleet. Maybe in areas that both of us have not thought of yet. So tell me something about you, which was not in the two page briefing that we got from your staff those months ago. Like your name. You are referred to as Captain Kelly and by Kelly to your fellow leaders. This is not listed as a first or last name. This is one question I have off the top of my head."

Kelly just blinked for a few seconds, lost in thought. _"He has a good point. We are so used to dealing with them that we have forgotten that they are from a different planet. Well they are from twelve different planets."_

Kelly rose from the chair and when he saw the Admiral's eyes get a little bigger, he knew what way Adama's mind had just gone, and it was not good. Kelly took his time and straightened out this uniform top, then step to one side of the table. This took him about two steps closer to the Colonial who was still seated at the table.

"Admiral Adama, my name is Captain Kelly Sweeney the Fourth. My friends call me Kelly or Captain Kelly. It is nice to meet you tonight."

Bill was now looking up wide eyed at the Earther. When he had risen from the chair, Bill had first thought that he had somehow offended the other military man. Then he stepped around the table, and stuck out his hand in greetings. Bill rose and took the hand, finally having learned the full name of the Captain. Now he was left to wondering why it was not listed in any of the files. It was just another example of how these people were different from their Colonial cousins.

"Nice to meet you, Captain Kelly. I'm William 'Husker' Adama. People also call me Bill."

After Kelly gave the hand two pumps, he released the hand and returned to his seat. As he was getting situated and comfortable, he started talking again. "My father was Captain Sweeney the Third, and he did not want his kid being called Junior. I agreed with him, even before I knew how many different ways there were to take the name 'Junior'. Also on our world Sweeney is very close to the word swindle. I had heard my father get offended at being called Captain Swindle while negotiating a contract more than once in my early teen years. I even got into a few fights over it when I was younger. I was always just called Kelly, and when I took my first command, I was called Captain Kelly so that no one would confuse me with my father. After a decade, it's just the way things have turned out. Captain Sweeney was my father, and I was Captain Kelly." Kelly did a slight shrug as he finished his explanation.

Bill gave a little 'humph', and let a smile come to his own face. The explanation made sense. And it matched the biographical data on a few of the other people among the Earthers with odd names. No own had been able to connect the dots for Captain Kelly, and no one from his people had been forthcoming with any details. It had been marked out as a cultural issue at first.

"So how long have you been at sea?" This was Bill just trying to buy some time for his mind to work and plan out a few ways to get the information he felt he needed.

Kelly rocked back in the wood chair, and sly little smile crossed is face to let the other man know that he had not taken offence to the questions he had just asked. "Well first off, I'm a third generation ocean man. My dad and I think it goes back a lot longer than that. But what with the Dark Age caused by the Rifts coming to our planet, any time after Granddad? Let's just say it gets a bit hazier the further you go back." Kelly stopped talking for a few seconds as he thought deeply about the family he left behind for the first time in years.

"We are from an area of North America south and east of the state called Free Quebec by our people. We called the area Maine, but that name is only used by locals as far I can remember. I was a young crewman, more of a rope coiler and cabin boy on my grandfather's ship, when we found the Neptune's Revenge."

Adama nodded as the other ship commander talked, then added in a few thoughts of his own. "That explains something about how you know your business so well, Captain. But how about your ship? Her weapons are not laid out like any ocean vessel I have seen or could find any information on from both of our people."

Bill threw his hands into air over his head. "Granted we are limited in our supply of weapons history books in the fleet. But we have a few people with that bent among the fleet. I'm sure that you know that there have been more than a few of my people who have studied your weapons history." Bill did not need to say anything about the dozen or so news and entertainment shows that had been broadcast after the Cylons had been defeated.

Now Kelly gave a full belly laugh, glad that he had not being sipping his drink just then. "I would hope not, and the way my ship is armed now isn't the way she was when we first found her all those years ago. The twin laser cannon turrets were mounted separately, one forward of the superstructure and the other aft. Those were all the heavy weapons she had, or that we could find on her. Okay well minus some hand held stuff that I now wish we had kept a few samples of."

Kelly was not going to bring up the close in weapons system that was composed of a medium sized rail gun and a twin missile pack all connected to its own small and independent radar targeting system. He could remember the weapon, but he had no idea what had happened to it. By the time he was in command of the Revenge, those weapons and their mounts were long gone. In fact after so many rebuilds, even he doubted that he could point out where it had been mounted in the first place.

Now Kelly took another drink, and looked over the glass. He could tell that the Colonial was watching him like a hawk. "Don't get me wrong. Those twin guns, each can hit like very few weapons I've seen short of a nuclear weapon. It was just that there are only two turrets of them. My father and grandfather sold off some of the other items we found on the ship. But after our first successful mission, one of them added the single-mounted Ion weapons around the top deck. It was to give the ship some antimissile capability. It took some time to work up a good training plan for that type of work."

Kelly gave the other man an evil grin that showed a lot of teeth. "But by now, we have it down pretty pat. The mini-subs capability was added not long after we got what we thought were the right number of Ion cannons and the people to crew them. But we changed them out with newer or better models as we had funds. Or whenever we lost one or two of them to combat or accidents. We use them like underwater versions of your Vipers or Raptors."

Kelly was lost in the past again, and took another sip of his drink absentmindedly. He was thinking about all of those years that he had spent inside that metal hulled ship. As he thought about it, he realized that he had spent more time on the sea than he had off of it. That was until they had been brought to his planet. That had cut deeply into his average sea time, without any work to do. It made little sense to travel the waves for no reason but to burn fuel and wear out machines.

 _"Now I can add traveling the black sea along with my time on the blue one,"_ he thought about the stars outside the metal hull of the warship.

He gave himself a slight shake when he hit a bad spot in a memory that he could tell the Colonial had picked up on. He gave a slight shrug and decided that he might needed to explain about the flash back he just had.

"We were on an escort mission that went bad after dad had been running the ship for a few years. We had just started making good and steady money for the first time in a very long time. He had been able to pay down almost all the debts the family had run up over the years trying to survive in our world. We were lucky that Dad had always been looking at ways to increase the firepower all of the time. Because we kept running into situations where we would have more targets to engage than the weapons we could turn on them."

"After all, we only had the two heavy weapons turrets, and they would be on both sides of the ship at the same time. We got lucky a few times. They did not seem to understand we were always changing the weapons load out or adjusting the output of the heavy weapons turrets." Kelly looked up at the metal ceiling and brought up another group of memories.

"We ran into a good sized group of Horune slavers attacking a seaside village one day. And they were not going to take no for an answer about taking whatever they wanted within eyesight. We had to sink or run aground every one of their vessels. After that, Dad started getting serious about modifying the real firepower the Revenge could put out."

Bill's eyebrows went up almost into his hair line, and he put the fork back down on the plate. "Horune Slavers? Real slavers attacking a coastal town?" Bill had read some of the Earther histories but he was still having a hard time believing in real alien slavers.

Kelly was nodding his head up and down. "You might want to check out our threat database some time. It has as complete an information guide as we can make on the various groups of aliens that have taken up living on the Earth that we come from. I remember dad had all these different ship weapon models laid out in his office all of the time. I remember I was looking at them all over the table and most of the shelves in his office, when the alarm went off. The slavers were using a lot of human built ships in this attack, but they also had some of their crazy magic ships in support of the other mobile missile stoppers. Dad was able to get a weapons lock with the help of one of the water warlocks that had just happened to be catching a ride with us for some reason that I can't remember any more."

The smile was back on Kelly's face. He had been on the deck in the heaviest body armor that would fit him during that attack. And he remembered every bit of it like it was yesterday. "They blasted the beast into scrap first off, took about six or seven hard hits from both turrets. They had those two turrets turned up to max for the first time that I can really remember."

Now Kelly shrugged a little. "That might not have been as good of an idea as my dad first thought. Because then the Slavers decided that they wanted us, and the small convoy we were in, more than they wanted the rest of the village. I don't know first hand what was happening on the bridge. I was on the deck in a Chipwell suit trying to keep the slavers from boarding us from some of the faster boats the slavers were using. When you're twenty-one, and in your first major battle. You get a little tunnel vision about living to see another day." He could still hear his dad's calm voice, telling everyone to repel boarders over and over again. He felt a tear start to work its way into the corner of his right eye.

Kelly stopped talking again, and let his throat relax before continuing with the story. He had to blink away the image of a deck awash in human and alien blood mixed with just a little sweat and sea water. It had flowed out of the ship's scuppers like it was some sort of river. He still could smell it as the image played in his mind. And he remembered the way the ocean predators seemed to have been dancing in and out the waves at the unexpected feast they were being given.

"We were able to make a high speed run close to shore after the rest of the convoy had been ordered to scatter to the four winds. That was after my dad had taken out the slavers' big guns. But the convoy commander did not think that he could save everyone even after dad had done that. It was now everyone for themselves. We did some quick repairs and cleared most of the bodies off of the deck for the next part of the battle."

"My dad was not about to leave a group of slavers free to roam the local waters. He was just not made that way. I found out later that this part of the coast was called the graveyard of the Atlantic by most of the locals. And that was because of all the wrecks that had accumulated over the years in that area." Kelly could feel his eyes get a little damp as the memory played in his mind. Now he could not stop even if someone asked him to. The words were falling out of his mind of their own accord.

"Dad was able to thread between some of the coastal islands off the Carolinas, the Revenge running with a bone in her teeth. It's hard to explain, but that was an amazing feat of either navigational skill, luck, or sheer madness on my dad's part. You'll just have to take my word for it. We were able to hide in this graveyard of wrecked ships and other half sunk junk. You don't know what those places are like. But let's just say that it's worse than any horror show you might have seen or heard about in your life. They can't write about what those are like for a horror movie and be believed as being even halfway realistic. It was better than being turned into slaves, but it's a close bet which one is more dangerous. You can be a slave for a short violent life or you can be ghost food. Now that is a frakked up choice to have to make for your crew."

Kelly felt a shudder rack his body again. Feeling like someone had just walked over his grave, he looked into his drink again. Now he was wishing he had brought some moonshine over to mix with it. "Massive graveyards on the Earth that we came from are like your horror entertainment shows. Only that they are real, or even hyper real. We lost my first wife and my best friend while we were waiting out the slavers in that little garden spot of hell. But if you don't mind, that is a story for a different time. I think we lost five or six other people to the ghosts and the like that day. And that was besides what we lost repelling the boarding slavers."

The look in Kelly's eyes reminded Adama of someone that had seen too much combat in a way too short amount of time. He felt that he needed to step into the other man's train of thought. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I don't want to drag up old memories. I'm sorry to have brought this up."

The more Bill heard about the world these people came from, the more he was thinking that he did not want to find it after all. He did not know how what was left of his people would fare on the planet that was being described to him.

Kelly smiled a sad smile, and his breathing became more regular. "It's okay, Admiral. It was a long time ago. Some good things came out of our hiding in that little bit of Hades. We found a few of what we called Pre-Rifts or Golden Ages ships in various states of salvage while we were waiting. And we were able to pull quite a few items off of them. But it had a cost, just like anything else. There is no such thing as a free lunch on my Earth. That was also back when my ship was more a cargo vessel than a warship. We also hadn't been space rigged yet, and we had all three of our cargo holds in use at any one time. Did you see the pair of single barreled five inch cannons in the cone shaped turrets that are right in front of the amidships superstructure?"

Kelly stopped talking. He waited for the Colonial to remember the data and the general direction of where the two ships had been attached to the flagship. It would not help anyone to make a reference, and the second party did not have time to access the mental data to understand a referenced data point.

Adama nodded in agreement. "As a point of fact I have. And I had been wondering about them. I thought they looked a bit on the archaic side compared to the laser cannons. But no one has seen them fire, not even when you did the test firings of your heavy weapons for us." Bill had taken the time to find out everything he could about the heavy weapons the Earth made ship carried before they were attached to his ship.

Bill gave a little chuckle, and took a sip of water this time before finishing his thought. "The betting pool had them as some kind of flare launching weapon. Or they were made up to be a faked heavy weapons mount for intimidating any threats before they got too close to you."

Kelly could not help but smile a full toothy smile. "You're right. They are old, and where we come from, they give very low firepower for the mass of the whole weapon system. We pulled six of them off ships in various shapes in a short run of time while we were in that graveyard." Kelly was shaking his head from side to side without realizing he was doing it.

"We held on to those fifteen ton monsters for months after we got back to our homes. Dad would not put them on shore, so they cut into our lifting capability. He moved me up to Second in Command in training, and maybe as his replacement eventually, right after we got back home. We lost our XO during the fighting, before we made the run through the opening Dad had found. We sank four or five more slavers when we charged right into them. I think they were in a state of total surprise from our sudden attack. Between us running down their throats, and sinking more of them out of the blue, their will to fight anymore just broke. By that time it was too late for them. Not one of those ships got away from us over the next dozen hours or so of fighting. More than a few ran their boats aground to get away from us." Pride filled Kelly's voice as he ended that part of this backstory.

Bill was riveted as the other Captain was talking about his history. "Okay, let me get this straight. You were hiding in this graveyard from a large group of slavers. While you all were there, you father found some old warships and started pulling off weapons. All while you all were fighting off attacks by spirits of some kind? Then when they were about to find you again, your father decided to charge back into the teeth of their fleet with weapons blazing?"

Bill was having his own flash back of Ragnar anchorage, where he had done almost the same thing. "That is impressive, and after that you were made the second in command in training?" Bill was thinking about his mental gymnastics in justifying putting Lee in charge of the Pegasus after picking the wrong person twice in a row.

Kelly was looking level at Bill, but slowly nodded his head up and down. "Yea, I was young for the job. But with so many temporary hires to replace our losses, I gradually took over more of the responsibilities for the ship." Kelly gave a soft snort.

"It was not fast. Or more to the point, it was not fast enough for a twenty two year old. And I had some issues with my father along the way. It was during one of those training sessions I had with my father, that I bet was a lot like what you and Apollo have had in private or at the gym a few times, that he let me in on some of his future plans for the family business. It took a few sprains and bumps on both of our parts to get that much out of him."

Kelly stopped talking, and looked at the Admiral with a sly and good natured smile that reached his eyes. "So Admiral, am I right?"

Bill bit his lower lip, then let it out of the bag. "I will not take that bet Captain. I have had to take my son into the ring more than once after he turned twenty. I tried to beat some sense into him, every time. Looks like it took hold with you, I have to say. I can only hope it takes hold half as well with my son." Bill did a little toasting motion with his half empty glass of apple juice.

Kelly smiled a friendly and knowing smile. "It should, and I think it has. But back to those big guns I was talking about. What my father knew, and I would have if I had been looking at something other than a gun's sights or my wife's bed, was that a major weapons manufacturer named Iron Hold Weapons was looking for these types of weapons. And they had been looking for them for a few years by then. Now don't think my dad had a crystal ball or anything like that. What he had was a head for business. One that I still wish I had access to every day after I took over. He had found out through a few well paid spies that the Coalition States was looking to return an older Pre-Rifts Destroyer into combat service. It was going to be on one of the huge inland fresh water lakes, or small fresh water seas in their territory. Something with that much firepower would help them control a lot of more of the coast line, with only a few modifications."

"We had no idea how far along they were in their plans, but IHW was very happy to hear from us. And Dad had just been waiting for the paperwork to be done and the money to be deposited before telling everyone about what he was working on. We took a lot of damage in the fight with the slavers that we could not afford to have completely repaired. They had offered to fix the ship back up, install two of the gun turrets on her hull, and hand over a bucket load of trade-in credit. And dear old Dad had been ready with the ship's plans in hand. After the money part of the deal was done, that was when he had them modify the ship's overall layout."

Kelly started to chuckle a little. "When they were about to do the work, they tried to talk him out of the last two laser cannon turrets. He flatly refused, even when they went to the more strong-arm tactics. That was a whole other fight, which I had with him." Kelly was shaking his head, and he had a sad look now.

"In the end, we had to leave that dry dock early. But we did keep two of the weapons turrets, which were now fully repaid. And the ship had its layout changed to almost to what it looks like today. Part of the fine print of the contract that my Dad negotiated for installing them was that IHW would sell us modern ammunition for those five inch cannons."

Kelly's belly gave a little giggle as he kept talking. "We had to wait until they had started selling them on the open market and they were no longer considered military restricted. For the first two years, you are basically correct about them just being used for intimidation. Now they will put a hurt on someone if we have a good line of sight. But we are very limited in the number of rounds we have on hand for them to use. I don't plan on doing any live fire training with them unless we are attacked. At least for right now. If something comes up in testing down the road, I might have to change my mind about that. Maybe if some side projects work. Until then, I'm mothering the frak out of what is left in my ammo bunkers."

One of the projects that was on the books was to see if they could reverse engineer one or two of the most useful types of IHW rounds. If they could get even close to the performance of those rounds, it would be a lot of help in the future. It would be that or try to see about replacing the pair of old but low maintenance cannons with Colonial made weapons of the same mass. But that would only be when they totally ran out of useful ammunition for the pair of old guns.

Bill was thinking that he could fully understand having to deal with the issues about a limited supply of ammunition for your main weapons. "That makes them seem like a pair of impressive weapons. Do you have any recordings of them in action? I would like to have an idea on the ranges and damage output. And if you know of any limitation of these weapons that you have stumbled onto in your career."

As he was talking. Bill keyed in on part of what Kelly had said. Bill was thinking that it might be worthwhile to try to copy them and put them on the civilian ships, maybe. "You said basic weapons layout. Can you elaborate a little more please?"

Kelly smiled and went into more detail, as requested. "The first year I was officially listed as the XO and not as acting or listed as an in training officer, we were able to add the bow mounted missile launch system from a wrecked Iron Bolt tank that I picked up cheap one afternoon on an extended port call. Dad was able to pick up a full load of long ranged torpedoes and tubes from a very crooked Coalition States captain a few months after that."

Kelly was thinking about getting the twin pair of long ranged underwater weapons, and how useful they had been more than once in his line of work. It was worth every penny they had paid in bribes for them and any reloads they could scrape up after that first load was acquired. It had gotten to the point that even if he did have a full load of those weapons, he still would buy any that he stumbled into, no matter the cost. Well, almost no matter the cost. There had been that one asshat who wanted way too much for a pair of nice looking torpedoes.

Adama smiled, this was a person who thought outside the box big time. "So you've been adding weapons as you went along. I heard about the short ranged missile launchers you pulled off of a pair Patrol ships that attacked you one day. Was that true?" Bill was wondering if the story was the same as the one he had been told or not. You never could tell with stories coming from a fisherman on the best of days.

Kelly gave the Admiral a large and toothy grin. "Yep. They made the mistake of trying to attack us in port one night. No one claimed the bodies or the wrecks after our little altercation with them. I just put the hulks on the deck over our Number Three Hold, and let my wrench turners go nuts on them for a few days. The newest weapon I added is the medium class missile launcher. It's the same one that goes to a James Bay class ship back home. The big long barreled weapon on the aft of my ship is a ship mounted rail gun from a Free Quebec Sea King class cruiser. We have been in this configuration for almost two years before we came to the planet you found us on. I'm always on the lookout for weapons that might be useful. Weather that is a good thing or not I have not a clue, but it has seemed to have worked out pretty well for us so far."

Kelly was feeling more comfortable now that he had been talking for a while. He had not had to tell these stories in a long time. "As soon as we got all of our damage repaired, my dad and I started picking up work. We normally get hired to hunt pirates, slavers, and the odd bounty for... well... let's just call them large predators. But now my main income comes from acting as a heavy convoy escort to large and/or high value cargos. We were on one of those escort missions when we fell into a rift while we were running from a very large and very angry group of slavers."

Kelly paused before he spoke again. "So, Admiral, that is the story of how my ship got loaded for bear. Or Cylons if you like."

Adama was trying to keep up with the weapons list and at the same time remember what he had been told or had seen them do as the other man talked. He would now have to go back and make some modifications to more than a few of those reports. He knew that some of those reports had some major errors in them. He decided to buy a little time while one part of his brain worked on those issues.

"That is quite an eccentric weapons mix you are in command of. My fleet tries to have a more standard weapons mix, with barely a dozen different weapon classes or types in the whole Colonial fleet. How does that broad of a weapons mix affect your logistics support?" Bill knew from training as well as firsthand experience about how logistics can win or lose you a battle.

Kelly nodded his head in agreement. _"Yep a navy man. You have got to have enough beans and bullets to be an effective force for any length of time."_

"It's not easy by any means. But each weapon has a use, and resupply of certain types can only be done in one or two places that are accessible by my resources. Would I love to only have long ranged missiles with heavy warheads? You bet. But being able to find replacement missiles for the ones I use in combat, much less the cost of each missile? That would put me out of business just replacing weapons after one major battle. Frak reselling captured ammunition to third parties along the coast was one of my biggest money makers. Would I like to have a third weapon that can reach about ten miles out, with cheap and available ammunition? You bet. The rail gun can shoot a whole set of different types of ammunition, all without damaging the system in any way. That is very helpful during combat with certain types of enemies. I use them mainly on huge targets like dragons and the like. But not many places make those types of weapons, or the ammunition for them in the bulk quantities that I need."

While the fleet had been on the ground getting engine repairs and any number of rebuilds done, more than one person had looked at the weapons called a rail guns by the locals. One was mounted on the aft of the warship. After some discovery, it seemed like it was a version of a coil gun, which was mounted as anti-ship weapons on battlestars. It just had a lot smaller bore, was a lot lighter, and had a shorter firing tube. When some of the Colonials were able to get a rifle sized rail gun to break apart and study, it seemed to be a very high tech and extremely miniaturized coil gun, with a few odd little tweaks here and there.

Adama raised his left eyebrow about half an inch higher than the right one. "I only know of two different types of rounds a rail gun, or as we call them coil guns, can fire. We have armor piercing and flak rounds. What types of ammunition do you have for yours?" He thought he was ready for the reply he was going to get from the Earther. He was so wrong, that it would take him days reviewing what Kelly said. All just to even start to get his head wrapped around what he was told. If you're scared of the answer don't ask the frakking question in the first place, as the old proverb went.

 _"Crap, I did not want to get into that just yet,"_ thought Kelly. "The only types we have on hand in the ready to fire magazines are what you would call armor piercing rounds. They are what we use for general defense and attack. The specialty rounds we have on hand? They are on the, call it, a bit more on the exotic side." Kelly was hoping that the Colonial would drop this line of questioning, but for some reason, he did not think that was going to happen.

Adama's wheels were turning at the idea of exotic weapon loads for his Coil guns. That could be game changer against the Cylons. Maybe they could be copied or modified so that they could be fired from his battlestar's smaller guns. He had no idea of the nightmare he was about to step into.

"Captain Kelly, you're being coy again. What do you mean by exotic rounds for your rail guns?" Bill had locked eyes onto the other commander.

Kelly dropped his head, understanding that the Admiral was not going to drop it. And Kelly knew that he was in a tight political corner. After taking a breath and getting ready for the expected reaction, he told Bill what he meant by special ammunition.

"Sir have you reviewed some of the data files we have on threat capabilities and weaknesses, of some of the different groups from our home planet?" Kelly was hoping this one last attempt to explain without getting to deep would work.

"Yes," was the one word replay from the older man. He let a look of exasperation settle on his face, it was the same that he had used before on Starbuck and from time to time Apollo.

 _"He is not going to let this go. Well he asked for it."_ Kelly let the end of his lips turn down a little. It was time to fire away.

"The rail gun rounds have a drive band to fit the rails, but the cores are made of different materials depending on the threat they are supposed to be used against. Most are silver plated metal, some are bones of different types, or wood cored rounds. I was trying to get some depleted Uranium rounds for some time now. I had heard that they can stop some of the types of attackers we have seen from regenerating and healing as fast as they normally do. But it did not pan out before we left port the last time. The ammunition type used at a given time would depend on what threat we're facing. If it's something new, we try a mix of different rounds to see what seems to have the most effect."

Bill Adama was stunned and was blinking his eyes rapidly. "Really? You have wood cored projectiles that you fire out of coil type weapons? What would you use something like that on?" He could hear his own amazement in his own voice. He knew that he should have read a bit closer on the Earther threat database. Now he knew that both he and his staff had more studying to do in the near future. They had learned a lot, but it was now clear that it had not been enough.

Kelly might have been a little sensitive to the comment's tone, but he kept his cool. "Vampires, some of the lower demons, and a few other odds and ends. We have found that they will take more damage from a wooden round, compared to a normal metal and ceramic type of rail gun projectile we've used in the past."

 _"Well, that was not what I was hoping for, but it still can be useful,"_ thought Bill. "If those things are still in our little universe, do you think you can start training up a team or two of my people? Just in case, to counter, I don't know, you can call it next level threats or something along those lines?"

Bill had seen enough from these Earthers to take everything that they say as the truth. It did not matter how outlandish it might seem at first. If it turned out to be false, it would be one of the few times that something like that happened. That did not mean that it was easy to get your head wrapped around what it was they were telling you.

Kelly let his spine relax some, as he realized that he was being taken seriously. "I think it would be a great idea, but you're going to have to hand select them from your people. I think it is going to be hard to find many of your people who can accept that the things we say are out there are true, and not us playing some kind of game or joke with them. If my people are running a training task, and someone does not take it seriously, my trainers might not take it very well."

Kelly was shaking his head from side to side slowly. "I know that I have had some issues accepting and understanding some of the things we have fought against." Kelly had a vivid image of three types of beings that had almost made him lose his mind by just looking at them.

Adama let the smile get a little bigger. "We have lots of time on the journey to find them, and for the rest to work through any strangeness. I'm also thinking that they might not have to be that flexible thinking. Religious zealots might be useful for something other than generating CO2 that has to be scrubbed. You just have to phrase it right to get them to work with you."

Adama let an evil grin slip onto his craggy face. He liked the idea more and more as they talked about it. "It was just too bad that they did not have a fireball type of round or something like that. They'd use it and call it the hand of Zeus or something."

The last part had been delivered as Kelly was sipping from his glass, so he choked a little as the now warm juice went up his nose. "Okay, I will give you that one." He smiled back at the Colonial Admiral. That was a great idea.

The men spent another few hours exchanging stories and ideas until it was late night on the ship's clock. During the meal, Bill called up to the CIC and told them that he was working in his cabin if they needed anything. He did not make it on to the bridge until his shift was almost done. He marked it up to the duty personnel needing to be able to work with him hovering over them all of the time.

The meeting would later be judged as one of the great bridge building events to have happened between the two diverse groups. The fleet moved out on time with a full load of volatile fuel and ores for the long trip to find a planet called Earth. One flash at a time, in a pattern. That would become routine or habit very soon to those carried within those hulls of the last ships known to be crewed by people from the Colonies of Kobol.


	13. Chapter 13

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 13 Something Goes Bump in the Night**

 **New Caprica, 1320 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 5+ years AT**

 **Little over 6 Months after the joint Colonial and Earther group left the Nebula**

In the empty dark of space, a small flash of light sheds a glimmer of energy into the surrounding cold and barren space. The little angle sided craft scanned the area with its built in scouting systems. It was straining to gather every bit of data that it could without being seen in return by any possible hostile forces in the local area. Once it was satisfied that it was safe, it proceeded with its next task. Moving deeper into the solar system with just a small amount of power pumped into its twin high mounted engines.

The crew was bored at having to do this mission, and they were a little nervous at the same time. The routine for the last half year had been for the Raptors to jump to a new location, scan for any threats in that new area, then jump back to the main fleet to dump the data it had gathered to one of the warships. After all of the Raptors had returned, the flagship would then pass out jump coordinates to the rest of the fleet. One set of jump coordinates for the new target area, and a second one to be used in case of some kind of emergency.

The fleet would jump to the cleared location and launch a Viper dominated CAP. If everything was okay, then the whole fleet would stand down from action stations. This would allow for the engine checks to be done in safer conditions. Eight hours or so later, the whole show would start again. They had been doing this three times a day, almost every day, since they picked up the Pegasus and the fuel ships at the edge of the nebula.

That had been a little over six months ago, and a little under seven hundred and fifty jumps with at least ten light years per jump later. This time the Admiral was not plotting a crazy quilt path through space designed to throw off any Cylons that might be following the fleet. Bill just wanted to put as much distance as he could between New Caprica and what was left of his people. In this case, speed was life.

The only excitement that had happened inside of the fleet after leaving the nebula so far, had been the elections called by the Quorum seemingly out of the blue. The public face of it had been the one-time Vice President Tom Zarek. It had not gone well for him and his renewed bid to become the next President of the Colonials.

Laura Roslin had run with some banker very few people had heard of before his name was put on the ticket under hers. He gave speeches and classes around the fleet around one major subject he was supposed to know a lot about. How to finish the changeover to physical silver and gold cubits as the currency of the fleet. This was a wildly popular idea among the rank and file within the fleet. It was just icing on the cake for voting the pair into full terms.

They would have a full four year terms without having to worry about elections. This time, a date was publicly announced for the next major elections. It had been another of the key issues which had polled very well across the fleet. The people were tired of the little games being played with their governing systems. They wanted more stability, and more accountability from their elected officials.

The Quorum now had a non-voting seat added to the council. It was for a member of the Earthers choosing to sit in on any of their meetings. From what the pilot of the Raptor had just heard on the latest news commentary, the Earthers had not wanted a seat in those meetings in the first place. But it had been forced onto them very publicly by certain members of the Quorum running for reelection.

The Earthers' leadership liked having their own rules, and a direct line to the Old Man. At least, when they had issues they could not fix themselves. Laura had won by a landslide, and over half of the newly elected Quorum were new and first time members of that elected body. Amazingly most of them had all been ones that Roslin had announced as being a friend to her. She knew that this would not last, but for the next few years, she was hoping that Bill and she would have fewer problems with the Quorum in that short honeymoon period.

The Earthers had not voted, or even been allowed to vote, in any part of the Colonial elections. But those were not the only elections to take place in the fleet. Captain Kelly had been elected as the new head among the three Earther leaders, who had also been reelected by a very wide margin into their old positions. Kelly would be the person who would take point on any issues that the Earthers might have with the Colonial government or Admiral Adama. Most people around the fleet thought that this election just formalized the de facto state of things anyway.

When the trio was asked by a Quorum member in front of the Colonial press who was going to take the new seat on the council, Max had replied that they would have to get back to them. The Earthers had not had the time to decide on who was the best fit to fill such a position within the Colonial government.

A few days later the Earther leadership simply submitted a list of names of everyone with a documented age above eighteen and who was living on one of the two attached ships to the Colonial council. When this information got out to the rest of the fleet, there was no way the senior leaders of the Quorum could keep it quiet for long. It just was too good of a story for it not to be repeated whenever possible. With so little to report on to grab people's attention, it was like blood in the water for the news people. In other words, they quickly beat the story to death for the whole fleet to see.

When asked in a press conference about the list, Captain Kelly simply told them that at any given time any one of his people could sit on the Colonial council meeting. He was firm in saying that the seat, which had been forced on them, was the people's seat. And as the people's seat, it did not belong to any one person. At that point something hit the high speed rotary impeller that was smelly and very wet.

Some of the more strict minded of the Colonials had taken the statement as a direct attack on their way of life. Others thought it was a great idea, and one that should be copied by the people from Kobol. That had made for a few weeks of lively entertainment around the fleet. That is if one likes to watch political talk shows. If one did not, then it was well into the nauseating side of entertainment.

All of that drama was still rolling around the fleet. It was bouncing from ship to ship and going back again as new rumors were added to the fire. The crew of the scouting Raptor should have been more alert to their surroundings. After all, the purpose of this mission was not just to move the fleet further along the path. One that had been mapped out for the fleet to follow. It was also following up on information from the Final Five human form Cylons.

According to information supplied by four of the Final Five Cylons, this star system was supposed to be in an area with a large abundance of tylium ore. At least it had been that way when they had passed through it a few decades before. The Final Five had been trying to fill in the holes about what had happened between the two Cylon wars for the newer Cylons and humans.

So the young crew might have been distracted as they scanned the system for the resource. It also might have been that there were not supposed to be any Cylons this far out from human mapped space. Or it could have been that they were having a heated discussion about the latest news to break before they had launched on this mission. There were many reasons that they were not as diligent as they should have been.

It was not totally their fault for their lack of situational awareness. As far as anyone in the fleet, including the captured Cylons, had known this was still well outside of any Cylon controlled space. Or at least, as far as they knew, it was off of any Cylon maps. Except John had not told them everything he had been doing. That was even before he wiped their minds. The Ones had secrets wrapped in secrets covered in a thick layer of deception.

After so many briefings, each saying there might not be any Cylons where they were going, the flight crew just assumed that they would not find any threat after travelling for so long. The pilot even had an Earther produced entertainment book in a bag under her seat. It was for when they got bored as the onboard systems absorbed all the information they could. It was so against regulations that it made one of them a bit nervous even having it in the craft with them. Maybe they should have listened to those inner voices.

* * *

The Cylon listening post did not pick up the Raptor when it first jumped in to the star system. It was when the little craft came closer to the larger asteroid belt that its presence was picked up by the base's sensitive and massive systems, all built into the drifting rock. The Cylon in command of this system, a Number One, used the built in standard tracking software on the station's DRADIS arrays to get more detailed information on the intruder. He tried to track the little craft as it moved through the rubble belt and got closer to the center star of this system.

After a while, he was even able to backtrack the Colonial made craft to where it had entered and, after its scouting mission was done, left the system. The One hoped that he would be able to ambush the humans if they were foolish enough to return to this system in the near future. After all, if there was one thing that the Number One knew, it was that Colonial Raptors did not travel very far. Not without a larger mother craft to support them.

What he did not know was that his tracking data and course projections were off by a good percent from the real world. That was due to the reduced DRADIS cross section of the Colonial craft. They had no idea that the little craft was now sporting new plates of armor for its outer skin. Ones made by the people from Rifts Earth, and it was like nothing this outpost had seen before. It would not have helped if the rest of the Cylon forces had known about this armor.

This outpost was on the back end of nowhere. It was so far off the normal communication lines with the rest of the Cylons that it was almost lost, then found. And that was how John wanted to keep it. This was among the first building blocks laid in over two decades ago.

The Number Ones had only had this base up and running fully for less than six months. It had at first only been an emergency refueling base, kept in secret by the Ones. Now they were thinking that this base might be needed to support their quest to find and kill the humans in the Rag Tag Fleet. It also had a part to play in the plan called 101 by the vindictive model of Cylon. That was for if he ever lost control of the other Cylon lines in normal Cylon space. This was just another example of the Number Ones always having plans wrapped within plans wrapped within plans and overly complicated plans.

The base was well hidden on a floating rock about the size of Ceres. It was stockpiling the fuel produced from the dwarf planet, and with the proven need for more Heavy Raiders, a production line had also just been set up. That new addition had been the key delay in getting the base fully in operation with the needed mining infrastructure diverted to support the production line.

What the Number One did not have working on the base was a way to call for help from anywhere deeper into Cylon controlled space. That very complicated system would not be set up for another year to eighteen months. And that was the best case scenario given the parts had to be shipped all the way to this end of known Cylon space.

That is unless one of the human forms wanted to eat their own guns and provide the function of a long range device. They were not going to do that. Not for just one lost Raptor so far from the last reported location of any known humans. They did put the base on alert and started activating some of the dormant small craft, just in case.

After all, doing so would only burn fuel. And that was one thing that the ground base had in abundance. At least, after a few modifications, they could make a few new command matrices that the Heavy Raiders needed to function. Or they would put some of the human forms in command of the few key control craft. Each human form thought that they could command two wingmen, if they ever needed to attack or defend the base. That was what the tests had shown, but tests were not combat.

The Cylons in this system did not have to wait long, because a few hours later the humans showed up to a system that they thought was safe, and had the resources they needed. It was not the whole fleet, so the humans were lucky. But it was still up in the air on who the lucky ones were, and who had just gotten the short end of the stick. And that part of the stick was covered in something you did not want to touch with your bare hands. The convoy was a lot smaller than had last be seen by the Cylons. It was made up of only the ships needed to pull the much needed item off the rocks, and refine it for the human fleet to use.

* * *

Saul checked the information board in the CIC of the modified battlestar. "Bill, all ships are in the system and no issues are being reported."

The older of the two warships was working this task while he larger and more heavily armed battlestar stayed behind. She was there to protect the larger number of spaceships that were not needed to do this task or mission. It also evened out the workload between the two warships, keeping skills sharp and motivating training. Just because a ship was called flagship did not mean that it was not going to take on a risky mission from time to time.

Adama was looking at the same information as the Colonel had been. "Mr. Gaeta, let's lead the ships to the mining site we were told about. I want a least time approach to the target area. And launch the CAP. Let the school know that there are no training flights until we have started mining operations. Make sure you pass along to the deck crews, they are to keep the chicks on the rails, for now."

Felix already had a course plotted out, so all he had to do was digitally pass the information to the helm control system. Soon the three ships fired their little, well little for them, intrasystem engines. Each of the massive thrust nozzles was almost the size of a full sized Viper. And the massive ships turned toward the round object that held the raw fuel the feet needed to refill their tanks. They slowly built up speed and soon they were traveling at speeds that were not natural to find in a star system.

They all had just had come to the correct heading when the Vipers started coming out of the launch tubes on one side of the modified battlestar. They came out in waves of deadly little darts ten at a time. Across the distance, the Cylon base was on the other side of the slowly rotating body that also happened to be what the Colonial ships were heading toward. It did not take long for the Cylons to figure out what was about to happen. And just as quickly, it was decided to ambush these interlopers into this secret area of Cylon space. The on file combat plans were soon pulled out and implemented.

* * *

A pair of Ones ran to the CIC of the base, responding to the alarm sounding all around the base. This was happening a lot sooner than any of the Ones had thought or planned for. After the Colonial Fleet Raptor was detected, they should not be in this system for at least another half day at the earliest. That was according to their standard Colonial Fleet SOP's, which the Cylons studied, trained, and planned against.

The pair of late arriving Ones did not ask any questions when they entered the command center. They just shoved their hands into the datastream in the center of the room. They started reviewing the data being forwarded to the command center from well-hidden passive systems.

 _"Colonial ship engine emissions spectra identified. Three very large contacts, multiple small craft are launching from the closest contact. Leading contact has better acceleration than the two trailing contacts."_ Not a word had been said out loud in the room. Every bit of data and analyses was sent through the Cylon network, just like they had trained to do for years now.

A second One was following the flow of information as it went through the interface. Then it jumped into work on a bit of data that had drawn his attention, out of the blue. When he was sure, he passed his findings along.

 _"Small craft, maybe Vipers, are leaving an unknown battlestar class ship. Someone check the data feeds. I'm getting odd returns from DRADIS on the small craft and largest ship."_ The data was sent, carrying the hints of both confusion and concern, with his statement and request for help included.

A Number Four cylon had entered the room without being noticed by the rest of the Cylon command staff. He entered the interface while the others were working and not looking around. He took up the request, and started to look closer at the data coming in from the base's massive detection systems. The base was small, but it had over twice the amount of DRADIS sensors and more importantly computing power of a Cylon capital ship.

 _"Focusing DRADIS, and linking to patrolling Raider. Maybe increasing our baseline detection aperture will improve our data resolution?"_ The Number Four worked and updated the other Cylons as fast as his mind could work.

It was quite a few seconds to do the analyses and get more data back from the dispersed sensors. _"DRADIS returns are about twenty percent weaker than normal, but they are Viper class vessels of some kind. The battlestar class vessel, seems to be a modified Jupiter class battlestar or some older class. But it currently has deployed only one hangar pod. DRADIS returns also are not consistent across the vessel. The forward section and starboard side both are giving back an almost normal amount of return. It's just a little lower return than we should be getting at this range But the other areas are even weaker or maybe defused somehow. The Battlestar does not seen to match anything in our war books."_ The slow to arrive Cylon continued working the data coming into the Bases CIC even as he tried to put the pieces together. All he ended up doing was confuse the other human forms.

A different One looked up with an odd expression on his face, then put words to the look he was giving the other Cylons in the white walled room. "Is it the Galactica?" These were the first words to be spoken in the room since the alarm sounded. The Galactica was the only Jupiter class battlestar known to be around after the Cylons launched their sneak attack at the humans.

The way that he said it made it obvious that he was afraid. As if just by saying the words somehow they would come true. Like something evil from the old stories about the Gods of Kobol that so few of them had cared about. But that was before they had tried to wipe out the human race. Since then things had started to subtly change among the Cylons. Especially after the events on the hidden star system and whoever lived there. Word had only reached this outpost a handful of weeks ago about some of the issues happening there. Like the high speed resupply run that had been required. This outpost had not gotten word about the loss of the Cylon battle fleet yet.

A newly modified ship or super-sized Heavy Raider taking up the role of couriers for the Cylons had stopped by with that little bit of update for the local Cylons. The new vessel was almost the size of a First Cylon War freighter. But that was about the only thing those two vessels had in common. This class of space ship had larger fuel tanks, the latest generation of self-repairing armor, and three times the weapons in both KEWs and missile launcher types as its predecessor. Besides the smooth lines, the biggest difference was that this craft had two complete and separate interstellar engines.

The idea was that they could run up the temperature on one, then switch to the other one until it was also getting too hot. By the time the second one would need to cool off, the first engine was cool enough to use again. This did not waste fuel, and it kept the engine from wearing out under the constant energy load and heat buildup. That second engine and added fuel tanks cut deeply into the cargo bay, but data storage was small, and it was a quick way to get small and important cargos where they needed to get to.

The Ones were hoping to have a dozen of these ships in operation within the next year. The planned total output for this class was in the order of a few hundred ships in maybe two different sub classes. Right now though, only a few selected human form lines knew about this new class of Cylon ship.

That courier had carried as much detailed information as High Command wanted to let out to this outpost. It also had not told them that the human crewed battlestars were still missing. It had not been much information, but it was enough to spook some of the human forms hiding in this base. More than a handful of the Number Ones and Fours that lived out beyond the edge of normal Cylon space had felt a chill run down there spines as the information they had been given was now joined by a ghost from deep space.

A One and a Number Four model both answered the question at the same time. "Unknown, but not likely. Not with the amount of deviations on this probable battlestar's DRADIS returns. The Galactica's associated fleet did not have the support ships necessary to do this amount of work. Even if she has not ended up being blown apart six months or a year ago. It might have been a missing Rebellion age ship?"

There had been a long list of missing ships in the Colonial Military database. More than a few of them were confirmed as destroyed in a matching Cylon database. But not all of the data had matched up. That meant that there were more than a few holes in the information that the Cylons had access to. The bad part was that even after seeing those holes most Cylons did not want to find out the needed facts to plug them.

The One that was the assigned as the Leader of this hidden Imperial Cylon base spoke next. "Whether it's a different battlestar or not, we still need to rid the universe of all humans. It is our mission. I want every Centurion that is not assigned a Category One critical task, along with the same for human forms, loaded on the Heavy Raiders now. We will take them out like we did during the War of Liberation. I want a full launch of all craft that we can man in ten minutes. Any ship that does not make that timeline with a crew needs to be forwarded to me, along with a reason they did not lift off."

With the commands given the Leader put his head down and started to look at different battle plans that had already been drawn up in his free time. He was the commander of the base, and from what he had read in all of those computer files, this was what a commander was supposed to do. It was just that he had no idea what made a good plan and what made a bad one. As soon he looked down, he was answered in unison by the group of human from Cylons in the small off white room. "By your command."

The rest of the human forms returned to the tasks at hand, and sent along the orders and directions that had been given to them. The first battle of the Cylon Empire was about to be launched, and no one in the higher command structure outside of this cold rock knew it.

* * *

Back in the dark and cold of space that surrounded the orange dwarf star., the Colonial ships closed in on the hidden Imperial Cylon base. They were still unaware of the danger lying in front of them. The modified battlestar was in the lead position of the group of ships advancing towards a conflict that only one side knew was coming for both races. They were about to be met by a wave of Heavy Raiders almost all built in this system, only been waiting to be needed. They were just crossing an invisible line in space that marked the sensor shadow cast by the small planetoid. Once they were across that line, both sides now knew something was afoot.

"DRADIS Contact! Multiple Contacts, close! We have Cylon contacts, Raiders and Heavy Raiders. Coming from behind the dwarf planet!"

The voice was quiet for a few seconds, and this matched the quiet that had gripped the Combat Information Center. Before Bill or Saul could say anything else, the training kicked in, and people started moving with a purpose around the command center.

The DRADIS operator started talking again after taking a very quick second breath. "Count is thirty Raiders and one hundred and fifty Heavy Raiders in bound! Zero-seven carom zero-seven-six, CBDR at full attack speed! They were hiding behind the planet, and it completely masked them from our DRADIS!" The information was yelled out, and the data was displayed for the whole room to see even as the person had been talking. The whole room exploded into even more action. It would seem that all of those drills had paid off. Now all they had to do was live through it.

Adama's and Tigh's heads shot up to look at one of the screens. "Action stations!" Had just started leaving both of their mouths when the alarm sending the little fleet into action started crying on all of the three of the major human ships. This was the result of the sound training that the flagship's CIC crew had been given. The _Action Stations_ alarm was already blasting throughout the old warship, and being sent to the other two ships trailing behind her if they had not already done so. Just because one trained for it does not mean that the training will be remembered in time of crisis. Training just helped once the brain accepted something.

The second order likewise was acted on, almost before the Admiral had said it. "Set all batteries to suppressive fire, and make sure Starbuck and her kids know to stay the frak out of our firing solutions! Launch our reserves!" Bill's combat trained mind made it seem like everything was moving in slow motion. It was not.

The little fleet now looked like an ant hill that had been stomped on by a herd of upset elephants. The reserve Vipers went out of their launch tubes and were vectoring towards the enemy. Trying to make sure the engagement would be as far away from the three ships as they could possibly make it. Each of the lightly armed and unarmored civilian ships went in separate pre-planned directions as soon as they saw the oncoming wave of Cylons. The great old battlestar would put her mass and old hide between the Cylons and the two civilian ships.

The pair of mining ships had already started spinning up their jump drives as their intrasystem engines redlined, trying to add even more distance between them and the upcoming battle. As soon as the jump drives were ready, or even just close enough for the ship's engineers, they would leave this system in a blink of an eye. It was up to the gunfighters to buy the time those ships needed to escape from this ambush. They would do it anyway they could, even if it would cost them their lives and irreplaceable machines to accomplish this task of delaying the enemy.

While the two mining ships were trying to open the distance between them and the upcoming battle, the Galactica turned to one side, presenting her port side to the on rushing Cylon ships. Her Command center and her personnel were doing their best to work out where any supporting Cylon heavy metal might be behind that wave of small craft. This would be the first combat test of the old battlestar since the liberation of New Caprica from under the Cylon boot. It would also be the first time any of the surviving Cylons would see her since that date.

The Old Girl was not totally the same ship that she had been the last time she saw combat against her old foes. The whole of her starboard side from the ventral spine up to the dorsal spine had been re-armored in the areas where the old armor had previously been stripped off. It was now to the same mass, as when she had seen combat during the First Cylon War. The difference was that this armor was stronger by far than what it replaced. She was still the poorer sister compared to the Mercury class in overall armor protection. But she was a lot different compared to when the Cylons started this new war. And that was not the only thing to have changed since the Cylons launched their surprise attack.

Six months might seem like a long time, but the three machine shops could only average twenty of the four foot by four foot sheets of hard armor plate. It took a lot of metal, and it took a lot of time to cover as much of the ship as they had so far. The machines were running as hard as they could, and it seemed like every day one or two of them broke down due to overuse or other issues. This was one of the key reasons the production was at such a low volume.

After one area was suitably armored with the thin sheets, they would move to the next section of the unprotected hull. The areas that were first refitted with the Earth made armor were the areas most damaged by the Cylon attack that caused the loss of the flight pod. After that area was finished to the hoped for thickness, they would then proceed to the next phase, which was going to be done in a different way from the combat damaged area. All that was needed were a few things. Those things were time, those three production plants, ores to feed them, and the manpower to operate the machines. The little things in the world.

As the sheets of armor came off the line, they were passed on to a crew that took them outside in batches of three or four sheets a lift. After the damaged area around the two attached ships had been attended to, the sheets started being attached to the head of the massive warship. And as more sheets were done, the larger area would be covered. It was slow going, done at a safe, if very methodical, pace.

Right now they were only laying the armor plates down one sheet thick in that area. After the whole ship was covered that way, then the plan was to start back at the nose of the ship. Layer after layer would be added down the whole length and breadth of the old battlestar. They would do this until it was the same thickness as the damaged parts that were now covered. It was a lot of work that needed to be done. It would take many more layers of the plate to add any of the special abilities that the Earth made metal gave against Colonial DRADIS for most of the hull.

The battlestar still had not fully lined up the way its commander had wanted on the Cylon wave. Nevertheless, when the massive gun turrets on the top of the warship came up and out of their protective housings with a lethally smooth and deadly grace, it took only a few seconds for them to be slewed to the proper direction. Each of the weapon turrets and their crews started firing as soon as they could once the weapons came online. A growing corona of exploding shells started filling the space around the warship at a preset distance from her. It should have kept most of the Cylons away, but the DRADIS shadow of the planet had let the attackers get a lot closer than normal. That meant that the cloud was a lot closer to the Battlestar than doctrine called for to be the most effective.

The heavy weapons turrets were only able to target the Raiders and Heavy Raiders in the middle and last waves of the attacking force. At least they were going to feel the effect of those massive weapons on their thin hulls. The leading wave was already through the pre-planned defensive zones by the time the first flak rounds detonated. There had not been enough time to adjust the fuses on the rounds before they left the turrets. The first wave of Cylons would also have to penetrate past only a thin CAP that had deployed over the battlestar.

The CAP of Vipers was growing quickly, but right now it was too thin to stop the onrushing wave of attacking Cylon small craft. The Cylons were already closing up in formation, and pressed the attack, hoping to punch their way through the thin line of defenders to get at the old battlestar. It had worked for them before when attacking Colonial capital ships or planetary targets in their databases. But now, it was exactly the wrong formation to take against the Colonial Vipers and the modified Colonial warship. They still would not be able to stop them all, but then again, Bill Adama had never planned to do that.

* * *

The Number One in charge of the base was working in the datastream as hard as he could. But it was too much information for one person to fully comprehend, even if that one person was a modified human form Cylon. He was not finding the answers he needed, or even the clues for him to ask the questions that best fit the situation. This was just not fair.

"Is it the Galactica?" He wanted and very much needed to know who these humans were. Whoever they were, they had a battlestar type or sized warship in their group. That capital ship was also armed with cannons and a growing number of Viper type supporting fighters. This moved them to the top of a limited threat list the Cylons kept on file. And he would need to pass along as much information as he could to the soon to be officially set up Cylon Empire headquarters.

A second Number One looked at him over the interface, and gave him a look like he was talking to a slow person. He knew that the only reason he could get away with it was that he was a member of the same line as the assigned commander. That should be enough to protect him. And besides, if this One was not up to the job of being this base commander, then he thought that he was the perfect choice to take over.

"Again, Unknown. We have not been able to crack into the communications between the three ships. DRADIS and the Hybrid are flipping back and forth between Viper Mk II's, Mk V's and Mk VII's on the small craft we are picking up. They might be pirates who salvaged a few old Colonial wrecks somewhere. They might have modified all of the craft so much from the baseline that the DRADIS readings are garbled. If they're pirates or a group of smugglers, they should be pretty easy to wipe out." This One wished the leader would just access the information, like a normal Cylon would.

A Four from across the little room that was the CIC for the whole base decided that he might have found something worth bring up for special attention by the rest of the group. "I'm picking up some strange EM readings coming from the still retracted starboard flight pod. The warship has turned it to face more to a satellite DRADIS node, so I'm getting more data on that part of the intruder. I am not finding any matches in the Colonial military tech files for the EM readings." The Four was starting to feel sweat build up on his bald head as the stress increased.

The Four was interrupted by another Number One, and his alert was quickly pushed back down the list of items that were being reviewed by the rest of the group. "The first Raiders are about to enter combat range. In sixty seconds, they should start firing into the Viper screen. They are still reporting, across the board, that they are having trouble with target identification and DRADIS returns. So far they are still averaging about twenty percent less returns than the baseline for a Viper class craft. Could they have some kind of stealth tech we have not seen before? It should not matter. There are less than sixty of those craft at this time."

Things were not going to plan, but nothing was showing up as a major threat. It was just that some things were odd, and the list of odd things was starting to get longer. The Number One kept a growing list of issues. He was thinking that this list would be helpful after this battle was won. Even if this was a fully crewed and outfitted battlestar, his forces outnumbered them.

What the Cylons did not know was that they were already in range of the weapons mounted on the Vipers they were trying to target with their shorter ranged wing mounted KEW's. The humans just did not want the enemy to know too much about their new capabilities yet. But as the enemy craft came screaming in and getting closer, the Cylons were still out of range of the KEW's that the large craft and smaller Raiders carried as their primary anti small craft weapons.

Just as they were almost in range of the Cylon weapons, the Vipers fired their wing mounted weapons at the attacking Cylons with simple pulls of the trigger. The Cylons started to die, but with only ten Vipers in positions to block the path of the advancing wave of Cylons, they just were not dying fast enough at the outer edges of the engagement zone.

* * *

Hotdog had been in charge of today's first CAP mission, and now that Starbuck was now back as the CAG of the Bucket, he was in space strapped into a war machine again. Now he could just be a Viper pilot again. It was just what he had always wanted to be in the first place. Hotdog had liked the rank the promotion had given him, but deep down in his soul, he just loved to fly and blast things apart more than anything else in life.

And speaking of blasting something apart, he had picked out his first target. He had been waiting until he reached the range that he had been instructed to limit himself to. That is if they ran into any Cylons, and those orders had been given out almost exactly three months before. But once the Cylons crossed that invisible line, he pulled the trigger and both of his wing mounted weapons fired for the first time in anger. With the pull of the trigger, both weapons fired a pulsed beam of laser energy that flew towards their target at the speed of light.

Hotdog had a lot of time in Vipers before the Cylons came back to kill his people. And now, he had accumulated even more time in this space fighter than when it only fired KEW's. When he pulled the trigger this time, the craft did not act the same way as it normally did and the way his training told him that it should. No matter how good the recoil dampening was, you could still feel your craft react to the rounds going out the barrels of the twin or triple mounted weapons. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. It is not only a good idea, it is a law. This was not the case this time when Hotdog pulled the trigger on the control stick between his knees. Part of his brain was telling him that something was dangerously wrong with his craft. It was a deep and well ingrained feeling building up in his brain.

He felt nothing, and the only clue that he had pulled the trigger was the display that showed the charge in the battery power level. The view outside his cockpit was a lot more spectacular than a little green bar graph that now had one less red chit marked. The Raider he had been tracking went up like a nice ball of flame from the invisible energy strikes that had more moved through it craft than across it.

Hotdog had no idea what the pulse laser had hit inside of the Cylon machine. But whatever it was, it had not enjoyed the experience of being touched by the new Colonial made weapon. That lone fireball was soon joined by more in the dark of deep space, and the Cylons did not even know they were being fired on yet. The only downside that Hotdog noticed was that his craft needed an upgraded targeting system of some kind. Normal Viper versus Raider combat was done in visual range of each other. A weapon that could travel at the speed of light should have a longer range than he could target with just his eyeballs.

Hotdog started tracking for a second target to fire on. He pushed his mind to focus on his job and not what he was wishing for. He had to decide if he wanted to fire at a Heavy Raider or just an ordinary Raider next. Normally the smaller, faster, and more maneuverable Raiders outnumbered the Heavy Raiders in every Cylon attack that the surviving humans had encountered. But for some, and so far unknown reason, that was not true today. The end state was that the Vipers were outnumbered over two to one.

The Heavy Raider was more heavily armed and armored, but it was also slower and a lot less maneuverable than the smaller Raiders were. He knew that Raiders killed more Vipers than the larger and heavier Cylon craft. The battlestar's close range defense weapons and supporting systems, had an easier time countering attacks from the larger class of Cylon craft. So it was his muscle memory that let him line up on another enemy craft. He lined up on a Raider as he used every ounce of experience and combat skill he had lived long enough to gather. When it felt right, he fired a string of invisible energy blasts into the center mass of the crescent shaped Cylon ship.

That would be the last free shot he would get, because in a few seconds, the Cylons would be in range to return fire on the mixed technology Vipers that were racing to meet them. By then, the first ten Vipers had taken out eighteen Raiders and Heavy Raiders. All without losing a single Colonial ship to the cybernetic enemy, or even being hit by weapons fire.

The leading wave of Cylon craft had been hurt. But with less than two dozen fireballs in space to mark the death of their brothers and sisters, they were not even close to needing to call off the attack on the strange Colonial ships. The total number of Cylon craft taking damage started to slide upwards as the Colonial flak cannons started to explode deeper into the wave of attacking Cylon craft. They had no idea that the worst was yet to come for them. The great Grim Reaper was starting to sharpen his great two handed scythe for the reaping it was expected to collect today. Would most of those bodies be human or Cylon? Now that was the question.

* * *

Back at the Imperial Cylon base, the CIC was being flooded with even more information, and none of it was making any sense to the human forms manning the systems. Every member of the Cylon CIC crew was plugging in and analyzing the strange data as best they could with any frame of reference they could manage. They were stunned and lost valuable seconds when one of their numbers called out with an impossible statement. The loud voice did have the effect of getting them to call upon reserves of energy and surge back into their tasks one more time.

"Resurrection chamber tanks are full, starting to buffer. The first Raiders are almost ready to start the downloading and reloading process. We are down twenty combat units and the numbers are starting to climb faster. The number of downloads do not match lost craft. Are they somehow jamming us?"

The voice was stressed and almost sounded frantic to the ears of the other Cylons. It was soon followed by a second voice from another human form who wanted to emphasize some bit of information that was confusing it. Neither got any help from the other Cylons in the room. One even had to ask for support from the almost crazy hybrid that handled most of the more mundane tasks around the base. It did not help, and only delayed bringing the information to the rest of the Cylon command staff that much longer. Not one of the Cylons realized that they were now talking out loud and not using the datastream fully.

"We are losing forces in the first wave, but not to any of the fire coming from the battlestar class ship. It's coming from something else. How are we losing ships at this range to Vipers? Is there another warship out there?"

The last statement was so high pitched, it could not have come from a male body of that size. Cylons on average did not react well to changes in any tactical situation. They were not used to dealing with the way fighting humans could change so fast. That was why the first war had started turning against them towards the end. Too many combat projections were turning out to be wrong, and often tipped in the humans' favor when they did go wrong.

Right about that time, on the attack front, a Heavy Raider was pointing in just the wrong position when it died and was able to report upon download just what killed it. The modified Raider had a Centurion's head grafted to the front frame, not unlike what had been done to the Heavy Raider, and was able to detect the non-visible energy wave hit the cockpit screen.

Being at the end of a very long supply chain had forced the Cylons to be adaptive. Some of the older Raiders' bio-matter had started to misbehave. To resolve this issue, the bio matter had been removed, just as Starbuck had done to a Raider once upon a time. It its place was a Centurion with its head bonded to the front of the craft and its body inside working the control inputs.

The hyperfast and detailed recording showed the beam as it started burning into the craft. It was in great detail that the recording was made as the metal and bio-matter gave way to the energy onslaught. It was only a few micro seconds of data, but the information was successfully sent back to the Cylon CIC. Now the others could see how it had died at the hands of what looked like a modified Colonial Viper Mark VII. A second view was downloaded of a dying Heavy Raider that happened to be looking at the whole event just in time to see the damage, along with the attacking Viper that looked like a Colonial Mk VII and had caused it. It was of the same event taken from three different viewpoints.

"You have got to be frakking kidding me!"

This was shouted by a stunned Number One as he yanked his hands out of the datastream as fast as he could. Thick streams of snot-like mucus shot all around the room from his waving hands. Almost as quickly, he stuck his hands back into the interface with another splash of goo. He was the first one of the group to review the data from the dying craft.

"I'm passing for review, files from a Raider and a pair of Heavy Raiders. The former was just taken out by a modified Viper class craft. It might have been taken out by some kind of high output energy wave, which was not in the visible wave lengths. Do we have any sensors that can acquire that type of data? If so, then have it pointed at the space battle right the frak now!"

The whole CIC was distracted, as the file was played and replayed, over and over again as the different Cylons reviewed the data file. Even the base's hybrid spent a huge amount of time, well for it anyway, watching those few seconds of data. This one bit of information acted better than any jammer made by human or Cylon in shutting down the enemy CIC and keeping it from influencing the space battle happening in the local system. A space battle that was happening right next door, at least as far as distances were measured in a star system.

The last waves of Cylon spacecraft were on their own as they closed in on the battlestar. Those small craft were not smart enough to come up with a counter to the new weapons. They were so stunned with the data they did not even notice that the only Cylons that were successfully downloading were the ones taken out by the Colonial flak rounds detonating at the rear of the attacking craft. They had only been told once about the Cylons' recent inability to download and they were not on the look out for more data on this issue. The Cylon CIC was just reviewing the data that was being sent back to them, and so far they had not asked how it was that this was only just now getting back to them.

The now smaller mixed force of Cylon craft could only attack in the same old ways, and deal with any level of casualties this might generate. The Cylons should have concentrated into one massive wave of death, instead of lines drawn out in space like they were now. Then they might have at least been able to get an attacking force on the weaker civilian ships hiding behind the massive bulk of the warship.

That would have been a workable plan, but the Cylons had another human flaw. This one, they did not even know about. And they would not be able to counter it even if they were willing to accept the fact that this flaw even existed among them. The attacking Cylons had tunnel vision on the battlestar sized strange ship. This let the less defended fuel mining ships free to escape back to the protection of the rest of the human fleet.

* * *

In the CIC of the human flagship, the level of activity could only be described as a form of controlled chaos, as information flooded out from each station. Unlike the Cylons however, they did not shut down due to the strange information that was coming into the ship. They had been able to learn from what the Cylons did to them a few years ago. They were not in shut down mode, like a lot of them had been during the Cylon sneak attack. So, it was just training. They had spent a lot of time training, and now they were a lot more confident in both their skills and their ships. Most were even a little on the eager side, wanting to take out a few more Cylons today.

"Sir, all Vipers are launched and heading to reinforce the original CAP line. Captain Kelly reports all combat forces deployed to the ship's hull. He is asking if we have any tasking for his Vipers and Raptor."

The words were only telling the whole CIC what was displayed on screens around the room. Two little green dots marked the Earther owned ships as ready to be called on for support of any kind. And that they were in space, just awaiting orders to move away from the modified warship and battle with the Cylon craft.

Colonel Tigh looked up from what he was doing to make eye contact with his new and old friend. "The Earther birds are harder to detect than our birds, and have different performance envelopes. We could use them to get around the Raiders, see what's on the other side of the planet." This was what a command staff should be doing. Fight this fight, but also look at how to win the next part of the battle. This was how you stopped surprises from happening to your command.

Saul had been looking at the data coming back into the flagship from the upgraded Vipers. He had been very impressed with them, so far. Much to his surprise, and utter gratification, they were working just as advertised. That was something that could not be said about almost any other Colonial designed weapon system that had been put into production in recent history.

The only surprising issue, which Saul was working on with the CAG, was the fuel levels on the first launched Vipers. Normally he would be starting to also worry about the remaining ammunition those craft might have left in their bins. So far, he had made only two notes. One was about trying to work on a way to extend the targeting range, and some kind of trigger control device for a few of the more click happy pilots. He was already kicking around an idea of remaking a few of the mid-flight refueling ships to help with the first issue.

Bill Adama nodded as he pulled up a computer file, and checked on some information to refresh his very sharp mind. This was his decision to make, as the commander for both the fleet and this ship.

"Mr. Gaeta pass on to the good Captain, that we would like to see where those Cylon Raiders came from. Tell him that we need information. They can kill anything they think they can get away with. Just as long as they can get the information back to us first."

He was not going to tell the other commander how to get what he needed. He just gave them an idea about what he needed done. He would leave it up to them to figure out how to get the job done with the skills and technology that they had at their disposal.

Felix passed along the information to the Earther commander, almost as fast as the Fleet Commander had given it to him. He then pushed an ear piece deeper into his ear with a finger from his off hand. He did not say anything aloud for a few seconds. He wanted to make sure he understood every word he was given in the reply message.

"Sir, Captain Kelly acknowledged the mission. He seemed to think it was funny for some reason." He had tried to make contact with the Admiral, because he made sure to have a questioning look on his face. Felix had spent a lot of time with the Earthers. But sometimes he was not that much better at understanding them. Same as any other person in the Colonial Fleet.

Before he could say more, a shout came from the main DRADIS tracking station across the whole width of the CIC. "Holy frak, Admiral! The three Earther ships just jumped out! How the frak did they do that?" The voice had cut through the noise of the CIC like a hot knife through butter, or like a Centurion's claws through an arm.

Tigh looked at Adama and raised an eyebrow, but he did not react as wildly as the rest of the crewmen working around him. This time, he did not pitch his voice low. Saul wanted the rest of the staff to know that the two leaders were not that surprised by this new rabbit coming out of the Earthers' hat. Saul and Bill had been spending a few hours, at least every other day studying Earther weapons technology. Along with any other report about the different projects, both large and small, that their group of Earthers seemed to be interested in.

"We knew they were working on getting some of the Raider sized jump drives working again for months. After we get out of here, maybe the rest of our staff need to have a talk with our tech people, Bill. And maybe we should keep a closer eye on what they are working on. Do you think we can get some of our people deeper in their tech circles?"

The last part was all an act. They already had people working with the Earthers on a dozen different projects, spread out around the whole fleet and not just on the flagship. But maybe it just looked like they might have missed one or three. Knowing they were working on something was a little different than say, them suddenly using something new in combat.

"I think you're right on both counts, Saul. But first we need to get out of here in one piece. Warm up the close in defensive weapons. They are about to have a very busy afternoon." Bill pitched his voice to carry over the din, and within a heartbeat, Saul was yelling his reinforcement to the Admiral's latest command.

Bill had been surprised by the Cylons, both by being here and in the number of small craft they had launched the attack with. Bill did not like it when Cylons were able to surprise him in any way, shape or form. In his experience, very few humans lived long after a Cylon surprise had been successfully sprung on them.

* * *

As the waves of Cylon small craft closed in on the old battlestar, the three Earther controlled craft popped back into space a lot closer to the dwarf planet than they had been only a heartbeat before. The detection systems spread out on and over the planetoid's surface should have picked up the intruding craft the instant they showed back up in normal space. Unfortunately, between the simple fact that the sensors were looking in the wrong direction and the Cylon CIC crew being so distracted, they went undetected just when they should not have been.

The Raptor was very lightly armed, at least for a craft on this type of attack mission. The people from Rifts Earth had been using it to test scouting and spying equipment and they had not been that interested in putting a lot of weapons on it at the moment. So much so that they had not even started working on upgrading the weapons systems on this old Colonial made craft. Unlike what they had done with the pair of Vipers acting as the larger craft's close escorts today. This one Raptor was the best and stealthiest craft in the whole the human fleet. It did not matter if it was a Colonial craft, or salvaged Cylon craft. None of those craft were as stealthy as this little craft was now. It was the perfect scouting Raptor to use against the Cylons.

The modified Raptor would lead this small group as it closed the distance to the dark side of the planetoid. Its passive DRADIS and other systems soaked in the information from around it, like a super charged vacuum cleaner of the gods. Its active Radar system started at first at a relatively low power output. It started to transmit, and receive data with its sensitive components mounted on all sides of the craft.

The crew of the experimental craft were easily able to make out the Cylon ground base on the rock below them with their still stealthy systems. It did not take long for the ECO to realize one or two major facts. First was that the Cylons must have launched every space craft that they had in one massive attack. Second, their fears were that there was a Basestar or two nearby to have been the support base were unfounded. The scouts were looking for anything that might be a threat to their mobile home. Their systems were coming up empty.

The Cylons who had agreed to be helpful to their human near cousins had written down all of the ways that the Cylons liked to operate. And the Colonials who saw these plans were surprised that they had not changed that much from the First Cylon War.

Any Cylon base that was on a planet or moon would only have a few small craft for support. Normally, if the support included more than a squadron of small craft, it was because there was either a Basestar or fuel mining complex nearby. Now it seemed that there were no Cylon capital ships in the area.

This seemed to be a base too far away from the regular supply lines of the Cylons, but the outline seemed close to what was expected of a Cylon outpost. With the mystery of the number of Cylon small craft now solved, the three small craft had another mission to work on. They needed to let the others know about the information they had been able to collect.

There was a saying Major Weston liked to say when they had been fighting the grounded Cylon forces. It was that intelligence drives operations. It was hard to plan an operation if you have no clue where the enemy might be generally located at.

When the Earther crewed Raptor transmitted this information back to the battlestar, it was quickly detected by the Cylon ground base's systems. Now alerted to the threat, its numerous weapons systems stared quickly coming online to defend the base from this surprising direction. The Colonials might have been impressed with the number of weapon systems activating and tracking the three small targets that were closing on those rings of death dealing technology. It was almost like the fuel outpost the Admiral had raided before finding New Caprica, but with more defensive turrets.

The Earthers on those craft were not that impressed with what their updating detection systems were telling them. They were all veterans from years of combat on their home planet. Every one of them had seen what heavy fire was. At an unspoken and unmarked line in space, the mismatched pair of Vipers dropped the hammer and attacked the base through the thin atmosphere over the Cylon occupied base.

The double mounted turbos, each Viper having had its third engine traded for a jump drive, were dumping in as much fuel as they could, and great lines of flames reached from behind the engines into deep and dark space. Each was riding those two long tongues of flames as their power plants went to the maximum rated power setting and maybe just little more. When they were done with this mission, if they lived, those four engines were going to need to be completely overhauled before they were considered safe to fly again. That was okay, spare parts were not that big of an issue.

Now that stealth was no longer needed, the secondary mission that the modified Raptor had been designed for came into play. That new mission was called electronic attack by the Earthers. With the two Vipers leading the way, the Raptor launched its counter-countermeasures from four different bays around the craft. And a massive, but very focused, wave of energy went out in front of the attacking craft moving at the speed of light. Those attacks would draw the first blood today. And not the attacking Vipers thundering down on the small planet.

* * *

Not so deep under the small planet's surface, the Imperial Cylon base waited. The CIC was utterly engrossed in constantly replaying the record of the Heavy Raider dying when a Number Four shouted a different warning to the gobsmacked group. It cut through the air of the room like the sonic boom of a diving Raider. Most of the time their reactions sometimes were not the most helpful in this situation.

"Colonial transmission detected." It was like a bomb was dropped into the middle of the room, or maybe like a snake thrown in.

The warning was quickly followed by more information, which was just as amazing to the crew working in the control room. "The base's automatic close in weapons are activating! But the DRADIS are having problems tracking! We have three possibly more intermittent contacts, which might be on a heading towards us! Confirmed Colonial communications detected!"

"DRADIS picking up two maybe three targets, but very faint! They are closing in from low orbit. They might be trying to make an attack run on the base." This came from the Four again. He was responsible for knowing what was going on from one hundred meter above the ground. And going all the way out to the edge of the Cylon base's weapons range.

The second Cylon came back with more information in the form of data from the weapons systems themselves. "Local turret fire control systems are still having a frak load of problems keeping a target lock on the three fuzzy targets closing on us! If they weren't maneuvering all over the sky and moving so fast they could just be a pair of falling rocks." The tone that leeched into the voice, showed for the first time... terror.

The One that was the leader of this base did not look that concerned. He did not even share eye contact with the other human forms in the room. He was thinking that only two Vipers, even if they were like the stealth Viper Adama and Cain had used before armed with a single small nuclear weapon, should not be that big of a threat to a Cylon surface and subsurface base of this size.

This Number One knew that two Vipers and a Raptor was too small a force for such a strike mission. If they were not Stealth Vipers, or Attack Raptors, then Colonial doctrine dictated a larger force so as to hide the nuclear tipped missiles in a swarm of conventional warheads. The third craft that was following behind the first pair, now that might be carrying a heavy weapon, but it did not seem likely. He was thinking that it was a scouting mission that had been overlooked when they jumped into this system.

They were only a distraction. Maybe the three craft were trying to draw off some of his own forces instead of being sent against the battlestar. If the Cylons retained forces to defend the base, it might buy enough time for the battlestar to escape. The One was not going to let something like that happen today. So he did nothing to counter the small human attack force.

This base had over sixty weapon emplacements in operation. They were spread all around it, in mutually supporting fields of fire. They ranged in sizes or function from copies of the twin Raider KEWs to Heavy Raider compatible large guided missile launchers. That should be more than enough to stop a full squadron of attacking Vipers with their supporting Raptors. The plan for the next of the base's expansion project would have added fifty capital missile launchers to its defensive capabilities. It was just too bad that they had not even finalized the plan. They had not even broken ground for that upgrade, yet.

That was the last thought the Number One had before the metal floor of the CIC reached up and slapped him in the face. It hit him so hard that his nose bone broke in four pieces and all four of them went into his all too human like brain. They only came to a stop when they touched the thicker bone at the back of his skull. Just like that, and the command and control for the overall Cylon effort was cut off from the decision making loop or cycle. It could not have gone better if Adama had tried to do something like that. Today, luck just was not with the Cylon Empire.

* * *

Helo was working all of the normal Raptor systems along with a long list of Earth supplied systems this craft now carried. More importantly, he was working with the Earth supplied ideas on how to use both types of systems. The station that he was working at now surrounded him fully on three sides of his body. Over the last months, he had been splitting up his time between learning the new systems, and the new methods on this lone special modified Raptor. Each of those tasks should have been a full time job all by themselves. But he also had been training the Earthers on both how to fly, and how to use in combat, the modified pair of Vipers Captain Kelly's people now had access to.

Karl could have taken one of the pair of Vipers out on this mission but he was the best of a very few people capable of using the mixed technology of the Raptor. Not to mention that if his wife was going into combat, then he was going to be risking his life right along with her. By now they both had faith that their child was as safe as any of the other Earthers'. In point of fact, he knew for a fact that if anything happened to their kid, it was going to be over the dead bodies of half a dozen of their close friends. Those friends who were also heavily armed and armored.

As they jumped away from behind the sensor shadow of the old battlestar, he finally understood the reasoning behind a Colonial regulation that he had been having problems understanding for the last year. At least right up until they were prepping the jump engine. It was the one that barred a married couple from serving on the same ship together. A related rule was having relations with another crew member on the same ship. Those regulations had seemed so old fashioned before the Cylons' attack.

As Karl worked his systems, he was making mental notes on how to adjust the training for any other future mission that his adopted people might undertake. With their primary mission of looking for any Cylons capital ships done, he started automatically feeding targeting data to the other two craft in this task force. He knew that the other two craft would be doing the heavy lifting, but the Raptor was called by the Colonial Military a force multiplier for a very good reason. Helo was just wishing that they had a few real weapons on this run. That is, besides the electronic pods and black boxes spread out under the skin of his craft.

The pair of Vipers bobbed and weaved as they closed in on the ground base. They were being fed updated and increasingly detailed targeting data from the following Raptor. The Raptor was picking out the targets that its built in computer thought would offer the best bang for the Colonial cubit or buck. For the most part, Helo was just okaying what the computers thought were right or slightly shifting the target priorities down if the payoff was less. When the pilots thought they were within range, they pulled the new triggers on their sticks. Now all they had to do was shift to the next red circle on their heads up display when the Raptor told them that the target was neutralized. It was almost like playing an old style computer game.

Their wing mounted weapons were almost constantly firing energy blasts in response to the rising stream of KEW's and slower rising Cylon missiles. It would only take one hit from one of the Vipers' weapons to blast out even the largest weapon emplacement on the base.

All of the Cylon weapon turrets were armored, but only enough to withstand the odd small rock or dust blast. They might even be able to tank a round or two of from a normal Viper's KEW cannons at this distance. But it would only just survive something like that for a round are two, not three. Besides, that was not what was coming at them today. These attacking ships with a clear Colonial heritage were not limited to Colonial made weapons.

Jewel 'Rock' Jaynas set herself a little deeper into the deep bucket of a seat the Viper had been outfitted with. Jewel had always wanted to fly for as long as she could remember. She had worked her ass off to get training time on anything that could fly and fight. Anyone who knew her from way back would say the exact same thing, that she wanted to be a fighter jock above anything else. She even had her handle picked out by the time she was ten. With a first name of Jewel, she had wanted the name of Diamond for her call sign.

She had made the rookie mistake of voicing this desire to a way too public audience. So needless to say, they had given her a different handle as her official and unofficial name. That did not mean that she was not good at her job. She had still worked hard, and more importantly, she had a lot of natural talent for flying. She had been actively recruited by Captain Kelly, and she had gotten a very nice sized signing bonus. That had been a few years before the mission that landed them on that cold planet. She had been perfect to take over a Coalition made Skycycle that Kelly had somehow obtained written approval to have on his ship. She had no idea where he got it, or the other four of the craft he happened to have. And she did not care to ask. Not after her first training flight.

She had liked the craft, but it did not completely fill her need for high speed. Her dream, while everyone else had wanted a hover car, had been to get an Iron Heart Armaments made Grey Falcon VTOL combat jet. She had been saving to buy her own jet with all of the bonus monies she had been earning over the years. It would have taken years more to get the twenty million credits that she would have needed to buy the thing.

Then Captain Kelly told her that he planned on buying a pair of the VTOL jet fighters after this mission. And he was going to send her to the two month long course to learn how to fly the craft on his own dime. The kicker to stay on his ship had been when he told her that if she wanted, she could be fifty-fifty owner of one of the craft until she could come up with the rest of the money to buy it outright. It was like a rent to own arrangement, but he was going to take care of all of the upkeep costs. She could not have turned down that offer. Not in a million years.

All of that had changed when they were chased into that Rift. She had been hurt in the attack when she was unable to dodge a few missiles launched at her. Her cycle had taken even more damage than she had during the battles. It had taken two months to get the ship's doctor to clear her to fly again. After that she had been slowly going nuts, not being able to really fly. Until that last battle with the Cylons. Now that had gotten the rust knocked off of her flying skills. She had raked up half a dozen Heavy Raider kills before they finally turned tail. She had no idea how many of the ground based Cylons had fallen under her guns.

When she had been told about the Old Man's idea to get his hands on a Colonial made space fighter, she had almost passed out on the spot. She had worked hard to learn everything that she could, but she still was not as at good flying the Vipers as the Colonials that had jumped ship. That had been a major burr under her saddle for some time now.

She knew that she was the best of the group from Earth, and she was working on getting better. She had set a goal that she would have more hours behind the stick of one of those craft than any other person in the whole fleet. That is how she found herself strapped into this Earth supported, and fully modified Colonial Mk VII Viper. About the only things left that were Colonial made were the basic space frame and intrasystems engines. Now the dagger shaped craft was an Earth tech space fighter and killing machine. Just the as 'The Rock' wanted it to be.

 _"This is so much better than any old Grey Falcon,"_ thought Jewel with a huge grin on her face and a tingle in the pit of her stomach. The smile became even more mischievous, as she mentally took in the data that the Raptor was feeding her craft's systems. She made sure the energy shields were good just before she entered attack range. This Viper was no longer carrying the pop guns it originally carried during its previous life with the Colonial Fleet. This was now a different kettle of fish all together.

She was packing three of the most powerful energy weapons Captain Kelly could pull out of the storage lockers. This set of triplets were normally weapons for a juicer, full cyborg, or large robot. And they would have only carried into battle one or maybe two at a time. They were even modified with cooling jackets to keep them from overheating. She was not happy that she was not packing the six short ranged missiles that could have fit under each of her wings. But she was armed for dinosaurs today, and they were not going to like it.

With a full set of teeth showing, that no one else could see, she selected a pair of missile turrets that were firing in her general direction. When she was sure she had a good shot, she pulled the triggers, and the two turrets were soon flying through the low gravity of the planet as the missiles in that turret decided that they did not want to play today. She had no idea if she hit the ready to fire missiles, or what. The only thing that she knew was that those two turrets were now not a threat. Next she lined up on a DRADIS tower. It would soon be only so much junk.

It was pull trigger, destroy target, then pull trigger again. As long as there were red circles on her screen she was going to keep pulling the triggers. Even if she missed a target, she was still hitting the Cylon base with bursts of destructive energy. And that energy was beating the Cylon base into so much scrap. She had no idea about the subsurface damage her weapons had caused when she took out her first target.

The modified Vipers had been designed to withstand massed and concentrated Colonial weapons fire. And these dagger shaped craft were armed with even bigger hammers than ever. It only took three high speed passes of those two craft on the base to destroy all of the defending weapon mounts, hangar bays, and sensor towers on the surface and subsurface Cylon base. After the threat from the base was even lower, the lone Raptor helped them find other targets now hiding in the wreckage below. They went after anything else that looked like it was worth blowing up. Anything that even kind of looked like it might hurt the Cylons' overall defensive capabilities, it was now a target for the two Vipers.

The two fighters had taken some damage from those Cylon weapons, even though they mounted alien made shielding systems over the armored hulls. That had not been unexpected by the designers of those modified ships. That was why the modified Vipers also had a hard, one inch thick layer of armor that made up the outer skin of the craft. It was so that when the shields were overloaded, they still could carry out their mission against any designated enemy. The armor plate was twice as thick as had been originally planned for, and even first fitted to the craft. It would seem that the defensive design had worked out, just as it was hoped for.

It had not been completely dark over the target the craft were firing at and flying over. If the base had been on the day side of the rock, the three craft would have seen column after column of black smoke rising into the thin air of the planetoid. The base was not destroyed, but it had been rendered to between safe to safe-ish to fly over. That would have been true for even the older style of Colonial craft that still made up the majority of the rag tag fleet. In short, the three craft had hammered it flat to at least flat-ish.

The scout Raptor made three low and slow passes over the site, recording as much data as it could from all of its systems. When Helo thought that they were at the point of diminishing returns, he let his wife know that they were okay to leave the thin atmosphered planetoid and return to their mobile base light minutes away. The three craft could have jumped back to the last location of the Galactica, but instead, they just applied power to their massive engines, and started looking for stragglers from the previous wave of attacking Cylon small craft. They were a pack of sharks looking for a few more seals to snack on before calling it a day.

If by the time they made it around to the light side of planet and the massive Colonial warship was gone, the three of them could always jump away. They had not spun down the short ranged jump drives. The ones that had been shoehorned into the small craft's frame with quite a bit of work, replacing the top mounted third engine. And all on a dare taken after a few too many drinks. These were Cylon manufactured, and technically still undergoing testing. No one was a hundred percent sure that they would spin back up again after undergoing a full spin down and being shut off.

It was a big waste of fuel. Then again, it was better than being left behind, alone to face an unknown number of very upset Cylons, and having no way to get home, or any place where they could get any much needed help. The plan had always been for these craft to jump in, do a mission, and then come back the normal way to the mother ship. The plan B was that they would jump to a pre-planned location. That location was where the rest of the Rag Tag fleet was still holding position in the spaces between the stars.

* * *

While the three small craft were working over what they did not know was an 'Imperial' Cylon base, the rest of the humans in system had their own battle going on around them. The key to this battle's conclusion was the information that the three little craft had passed along to the commander of the old, heavily modified battlestar. Now he knew that this was not an ambush, but a Cylon base at the end of a long support line. ONe without any capital ships to support it in its time of great need. That was just too bad for them, and Bill Adama was not going to waste this opportunity that he had stumbled into.

The many crew members on the CIC of the Galactica were still coming to grips with one fact. It was that the Earthers had Vipers equipped with jump drives, which had just been proven to have worked in combat! It was not that much of a surprise to most of them that they were working on them. But there was a big difference between working on the idea and seeing two of them put into action against a wall of Cylon attackers. That was a completely different ball game to mental processes.

This distraction made it so that there was a bit of a delay, only a little, when new information came in to the flagship. It was only due to the hours spent training before and after leaving the contested hidden system that the delay in passing along the new information to the commander and the rest of the CIC was kept short. Colonials as a whole were becoming, if slowly, more mentally flexible than they had been in a long time.

"Admiral we are getting a data burst from the Earthers' Raptor."

This was shouted across the CIC by a person hidden from the two senior officers. The updated information then was displayed on many of the screens around the room in a sudden flash of off white letters only a few seconds after the announcement rang out. Each station reviewed the data as it was displayed so that everyone could use what data was important to them, and only what was important to their specific jobs. It was not uncommon that one new bit of information would be used by half a dozen others. It was why you had a staff. To divvy up the workload.

Saul looked at the data on the high definition display and made odd little noises under his breath. It was soft, but it carried to the first row of stations, and it shocked the personnel at those terminals. The noise was one of pleasure and happiness. Both of these things were not something normally connected with the Saul Tigh. Even after he had found out that he was a Cylon, his personality had not changed that much. Only his level of drinking had.

After a few more seconds to believe what his eyes were telling him, Saul pitched his voice to carry clearly to the first row of command stations.

"No supporting Basestars or other ships. No orbital support structures. It just looks to be a midsize mining and refining operation, with a small manufacturing area attached." Saul's head snapped over to the Admiral.

"They must have launched every frakking thing they have at us! I bet you they're making Heavy Raiders in that extension! And that's why there's so many of them attacking us compared to the smaller Raiders!"

Saul's mind was now moving at high speed as he started working out some more details from the data that had just been sent to them. More details started to become clearer and clearer, the longer the Raptor transmitted data to the ship.

Bill's head went to the combat tracker, and he started doing some math in his head. His eyes got a little narrow, and his face looked like it had been cut from stone. _"We could do it,"_ was his thought after a few seconds of running and re-running the numbers in his mind.

They might take some damage, but Bill thought they could do it. At least as long as some frakking Basestar does not show up out of the blue and spoil the plans. It would be a replay of the last time they raided a Cylon Tylium mine, only this payoff could be even larger. This base is on the end of a very long support line. They might be able to take their time, and do some in-depth collecting.

Bill's mind was running and processing data as fast as it could. They had been traveling for half a year already. That had left more than a few holes in their cargo bays spread out across the fleet. He was now thinking that this might be the perfect place to fill all of those empty cargo storage holds as well as fuel tanks.

Saul was thinking the same thing, but he felt the need to voice these thoughts to his commander. He did.

"What are you thinking, Bill?" The tilt of his head let the Admiral know what he was thinking, without having to say a world. This was only possible because of all of the years that they had worked together.

Bill turned to look directly at his old friend across the light table form him. "I'm thinking, that I'm tired of running. There are things down there that we can use." Bill used his right arm to point in the general direction of space to reinforce what he meant by down there.

"And we might not be able to find'em anywhere else. That is, short of going back to where our homes used to be." Bill's mind was going at the speed of light, and a slight smile crossed his craggy face. He had finished working up his plan while he was talking.

Saul gave a smile that was all stained yellow teeth. And that smile, it would not have ever been confused for a friendly gesture. Even if it had come from him before he had found out that he was a Cylon. "I know what you mean, Bill. I feel the same way. Let's pick up some slightly used parts from these frakkers! Only shot once!"

Saul quickly went into full booming voice mode and started stalking around the table yelling out commands to the whole Command staff. "Helm, bring us about! And let's bring them in closer and faster! Mr. Gaeta I want you to remove the Cylons from the Admiral's space, if you frakking please! Also pass the word to Captain Kelly and Major Weston."

Saul shot his friend a quick and evil smile. "Tell them... That it's going to be busier than we had planned on today. They are free to use whatever weapons they feel like they need to in order to defend their sectors. Mr. Gaeta, you will NOT tell him that he is protecting our weak side." Saul was just starting again and took another breath.

He had to repeat through almost all of the orders twice more because the whole CIC, including Felix Gaeta, had frozen in place as the words beat into their ears. By the time people started to move around the CIC, Saul was starting to use more colorful language, and he did it loudly, to get them moving again in the direction he wanted them to go.

There had been only three times since the Cylons' surprise attacks that the Colonial Fleet had stayed to fight a Cylon force in any given star system. After the shock had worn off, the CIC personnel jumped to their tasks with renewed vigor. This was something that very few of them had thought that they would ever see again. At least, anywhere outside of the much laughed at training events. This was nothing at all like the all or nothing throw of the dice battles such as the attack into the nebula system of New Caprica. Nor was it anything like any of the handful of other battles the old battlestar had been involved in with this newest war.

When Saul was satisfied that the assigned tasks were underway by the flagship's staff, Colonel Tigh turned back to this friend and commander at the center of the CIC and its long back lit table. "Well, looks like we'll get to see if those replacement weapons in the close in weapons turrets will hold up under real combat conditions. And a lot earlier than we had planned." It was an offhand remark, but one that could have some wide ranging implications. And they could be for both the Cylons and the mixed personnel within the fleet.

The humans had been making as many of the laser weapon systems as they could. But they only had so many that they could make at a time. It was their limited manufacturing capabilities that were again holding them back from being the most prepared to fight their longtime enemies. Right now they were caught in a common loop.

The more weapons they made also meant the more weapons that they would have to support with spare parts. And that was just to keep the new weapons in working order. But one good thing had come of this loop already. If they had time, they would be able to break this loop of numbers. As the Colonials learned more about this new technology base, the more they tended to make refinements to their home brewed laser weapons. The people from Rifts Earth could not help the rest of the Colonials that much. So few of them knew how to make new weapons from scratch. It would be like your average shade tree auto mechanic trying to make a set of tires, or cast an engine block. And all of this from raw ores.

As they learned more about these new types of weapons, the more they were able to improve the reliability of the weapons they were making. And soon they would be able to make newer and better weapons than the first few production runs had been. All with less time and materials being used in each design generation.

It was going to be a cycle, so for now only one fifth of the weapons or a little over one hundred of the close in weapons turrets on the flagship had been changed from KEW's to Colonial made laser weapons. But now that all of the Vipers had the new weapons, a few other projects could start to use those new style weapons in small scale. As the newer weapons grew more reliable, fewer spare parts would need to be kept on hand and refreshed as they were used.

The old KEW's that were replaced by the newly made laser weapons were spread out to the other ships of the fleet in newly hand-built lightweight turrets. This was so that every ship within the Rag Tag fleet had at least some kind of defense. Even if it was only short ranged. Over time, they would only get stronger as more of the Colonial designed and made laser weapons were made for the two battlestars and these two handed the KEW's over to the little fleet of civilian ships.

This surprise battle with the Cylon outpost would be the first combat test for these new style weapons. The truth was no one knew how the weapons would perform in the crucible of real combat. It had not been uncommon among both groups of combatants today to have weapons that looked great on paper or even all the way up to the limited test phases. And they would even look great to the people testing them, and to the ones who wrote the checks. Only to be proven in a larger battle that they were not so great in the real world of larger scale war.

* * *

The wave of Cylon craft were closing on the damaged looking battlestar at maximum thrust when all of a sudden, massive jets of gases started appearing around the almost kilometer and a half long warship. It started slowly at first, then faster and faster as those small looking thrusters started to do their jobs. The great warship moved until its nose was pointed at the Cylon occupied planet, like the predator it had been made to look like.

With the ship almost in proper alignment, the massive engines at the back of the long ship started to glow brightly. They would glow even brighter as more fuel was fed into those great works of man. Within seconds, the unbreakable laws of physics kicked in and the millions of tons that the warship massed started to move faster and faster. She was closing the distance first with the attacking Cylon Raiders, then Heavy Raiders, then the supporting ground base that was on the planetoid behind them. The Colonial warship was not running away, she was coming to reap what the Cylons had sowed in this universe.

Starbuck was the CAG for the flagship again, but she was a great Viper pilot and she was not going to allow combat to happen without getting some trigger time of her own in. Not after six months of hard, but very boring work. It was against the very laws of nature for something like that to happen around her for a second time. Now, she was having a grand old time. Even if she had been forced to be the last Viper to come out of the old battlestar's launch tubes. She was finally going to get to kill something. She had an itch that was finally going to get scratched.

The Mk VIII she was strapped into was just one of many launched today. So far all of them were living up to all the hype. Living up to even the most optimistic reports written up about this weapon system. Starbuck was working her controls like the professional and the gifted pilot she was, and was quickly bringing another Cylon craft into her weapon sights.

It had taken a lot of retraining to get used to firing weapons that moved at the speed of light. The other major training issue she had with them was that the new weapons did not leave any visible cues to tell if she was leading her target too much or too little. It had taken some major changes in training, and even a minor software update across the whole fleet of new Colonial Vipers to resolve. The Heads Up Display on the Vipers now showed where the non-visible bolts of light energy was going after the trigger was pulled. It was a computer's best guess, but it was the best that they currently could do.

As it turned out this was a simple fix. The Earthers already had something similar built into their combat machines. The only thing that needed to be done was have some of the more mentally flexible Colonials write the necessary code to emulate it on Colonial made technology and devices. The speed of the firepower meant that the pilot did not have to lead the target at all. Viper pilots had always been trained to use what was called a pipper. The pipper would show a pilot where to aim the craft's weapons to hit a given target. Its built in avionics would take care of any leading of the target that might need to be done and cue the pilot where to aim their guns.

The Colonials had been very lucky so far that the Cylons had not developed this lightweight bit of technology or copied it from all of the wrecked Vipers that had fallen into their hands. It could have been found out already, just that the Cylon felt that they had the computer edge in any engagement, and simply had not noticed the simple aiming devices. Both groups would have been very surprised to know that Earth had had this same bit of technology for a while. It had been put in a subsonic fighter called the F-86 and a few other craft in a localized war that occurred a few hundred years ago on that planet. Although that would depend on what universe you were in.

At the ranges today's battle between Colonial and Cylon was taking place, most of the weapons fire struck whatever target had been designated to hit. Starbuck put a little more left pedal into her craft, just because her natural instinct told her to. This little bit of adjustment was perfect, and she fired six laser pulses into the top armor of a Heavy Raider. It had looked to be trying to break towards the battlestar, and away from the battle of small craft. She was rewarded with a nice fireball as her weapons fire struck something that did not like being messed with. And whatever it had been reacted accordingly and very spectacularly. There was nothing left of the eighty plus ton craft that was bigger than a centimeter or two across when the fireball died due to the lack of an oxidizer.

Starbuck applied the maximum power to her triple engines, and pulled out of the current fight on trails of very hot white gases. She had a slight smile on her face, as she flew through the cloud that had been a Cylon craft a few heartbeats before. The sound that carried to her ears through the pressurized cockpit, it had sounded like rain coming down hard on the tin roof of the older Adama's hunting cabin.

The older Adama had told her and her boyfriend Zack Adama all about how the sound of a Cylon raider's parts sounded the exact same way. Back when he had been in an old Viper MK II during the old Cylon war. Not one of the gathered young people had believed the slightly drunk older Adama that night. That had changed over the years, as more and more oldtimers were heard referring to 'loving to hear the rain' as they fought what turned out to be the first generation of Cylon Raiders.

The reason that she had put the spurs to her new Mk VIII was that she needed to get a better view of what was going on in the overall battle. She was not just another gunner today, but also a leader of all of the Vipers that the warship had launched. And so she had to be able to plan ahead, a lot further ahead than the average trigger puller. It was a different skill set from how to get the next target into her gun sights. What she saw was a sight very few humans had seen since the very end of the First Cylon War.

It was a battlestar charging, weapons blazing into battle with its metal skinned enemies. Her heart nearly stopped when she was also able to see over a half dozen Heavy Raiders crash into the opened port hangar bay of the flagship in a conga line attack. They did look to be crash landing versus crashing as a huge missile strike. They just were without explosive warheads to use against the only operational landing bay the battlestar had.

She had no way of knowing the damage those ships were doing, but between the crashing and offloading Cylons, it could not be good for the old warship. She flipped a switch on one of her side panels full of buttons without needing to look at it.

"Galactica, Starbuck. We have leakers, about a dozen Cylons look to be doing some forced landing in the hangar pod. I can also see a few more hard docked to hatches along the port side of the main hull. I can scratch your back, but I think they are trying to board you."

Starbuck's voice was as calm as she could make it. But in the end, she just had too much adrenaline pumping through her for the words to come out that way. She had done her job, now it was time for others to do theirs. That is, if they wanted to have a home for much longer.

* * *

Bill looked up when he heard Starbuck's slightly scrambled voice come over the transmitter speakers mounted at different locations around the command center. He was not surprised about the information, but he was disappointed that his staff had not picked up the new development before she had. Bill was looking up at the screen that was depicting the current battle of small craft. His head did not move a millimeter as he gave the next list of commands to his staff. It was just another day, and his training was telling him what to do.

"Mr. Gaeta, sound the boarding alarm. Contact Captain Kelly, and tell him that we are going to need to deploy his counter-boarding troops into the main parts of my ship." These thirty-one words were going to unleash the next best thing to hell onto the Cylons daring to board the Colonial flagship.

Felix pushed a single button on his console, even before all of the words had left the Admiral's lips. At the speed of light he triggered flashing lights and a prerecorded message that would be seen and heard in every corner of the massive ship. The ship's crew started to double their check body armor and weapons, then moved to their designated areas. All as special heavy blast doors slammed into place all around the ship,

in a pre-designated and battle tested procedure, head counts were made by team leaders, and reported to CIC as each of the rooms were locked, additional blast doors falling and locking into place. Some of the crews who just happened to be near the landing areas were not able to make it to the assigned safe areas in time. They would be on their own if any Cylons found them. Very few people who had survived this long fighting against the Cylons would not know what to expect. You could have asked a ten year old, and they would have told you what awaited you. That would be death by weapons impact, bashing, or being cut apart by the Cylon Centurions' claws.

The battlestar's CIC was now even busier than it had been before as it tried to manage both the space battle and the battle about to rage inside her massive metal hull at the same time. But lessons learned and bought with human blood during the First Cylon war had been put to good use when they built this massive warship so long ago.

She had been boarded several times in her career, even during this new war the enemy had tread her metal corridors. The last time had been a very bloody event for the then unprepared human crew. This time the humans were not short on military grade ammunition and marine body armor. In addition, a lot of the counter-boarding blast doors and locks had been broken or removed entirely in the years of peace. Now they were back, and this was going to be the first battle in this new war that the great old ship would be fully prepared to defend herself against any Cylon boarders.

"Sir, we have detected breachers moving from eight points on the hull, including the hangar bay." This update came from the Damage Control station, off to one side of the larger command center. Right now, there was very little for them to do on the bridge. Their teammates only had the minor task of reporting and trying to prepare certain parts of the ship to better react to the invading Cylons. Oh and keep the underarmed and under-armored personnel out of the lines of fire from both sides. As the old saying from Earth goes, "friendly fire, is always not friendly."

Bill and Saul were both now looking at a line schematic of their beloved ship. It was now showing on the light table between them, with a smaller copy on three of the room's other screens. They watched it as it started to change slowly at first, but quickly picked up speed as more information came in and were reflected on the display. Red hallways and lines marked the advance and reported sightings of the Cylon invaders. Seeing the malignant advance of the Cylons was almost enough to make their blood run cold. That is until they saw the quicker advancement of black blocks that showed the coming counterattack of the human forces.

Saul mumbled under his breath. It was just loud enough so that his boss could hear what he had said, and no one else. He had seen these types of movements before. They came back to him every few nights. Now he did not know if they were true memories or something else entirely, but the end state was still the same to his emotional state.

"Looks to me that they are trying to close in on the Auxiliary Damage Control and the Back-Up Life Support sections. Just like in the bad old days of the First War." Saul was trying to glean any bit of information that he could from the display.

Bill nodded because he was the only one near enough to hear Saul taking. He gave a lone reply. "Yep, but this time they have more than a few human forms working with them as they try to make it there. At least this time we know about them, and don't have to worry about a few blue on blue events because of them."

Bill tapped a side screen, so that Colonel Tigh could see what he was about to talk about. "Notice the makeup of the skinjobs, so far?"

Saul made a noise that told Bill the other man had not noticed that potentially important bit of data. Saul flipped through a few different images of the attackers. "You're right! They're only from the Ones, Fours, and a few from the Number Five lines. What are you thinking, Bill?"

Those words had just left Saul's mouth when another video camera picked up and transmitted its data to the CIC. It was of another group of Centurions being lead from behind by a pair of Number Ones in Colonial style body armor and what looked like Colonial made military side arms and long guns.

Bill shook his head from side to side and made a face as he looked at the newest images. "I don't know, but it might be important. It feels like it should be very important, but I can't put my finger on it as proof of any kind. Do we have any word on the special counter-boarding teams' status?"

Saul did a quick look at a lower mounted display before answering the Admiral. "They've all reported in, and are in their assigned blocking positions. It should be any second now that the first Cylons bump into one of them." Saul was hoping that they would be able to get a live feed pumped into the CIC when that event happened.

Saul had another evil grin slapped on his face when he made eye contact with his boss. He was looking forward to seeing, and more importantly recording it for later distribution. It would document the events for both the supporters and the detractors around the fleet on the effect the upgraded weapons had on Centurions.

Just as Saul had said those fate filled words, the Cylons ran into the first Colonial armed group waiting in one of the ship's main corridors. A wave of metal Cylons were moving down the metal tube of a hallway at a very fast walking pace for a human. It was the type of pace that they had used in the past to successfully run down humans. It let them do that without overly exposing the Cylons to the many ambushes that might have been laid by those same humans. The sound of their metal feet striking the metal deck of the Colonial warship was deafening. And if the waiting humans had not been waiting with a bit of glee at the approaching sound of death, it would have been terrifying to them. Maybe to the point of making them flee for their lives. Now it was like the starting beat of their favorite song coming out of a speaker.

When the Cylons made the turn around one of the corners of the corridor, just like they had already done a dozen times before, they walked into a wall of energy blasts from the waiting human defenders. These predefined defensive points had to be very carefully thought out before they were green-lighted to be rebuilt in the first place. With the addition of these new weapons, a lot of redesigning had to be done. No one wanted fire from the new weapons to breach the hull of the warship.

The Viper and Raptor pilots did not have to worry about happened to their weapon discharges if they did not hit the targets they were aiming at. In space or a planet's atmosphere, those energy bolts would just keep right on going in a straight line. At least until they lost power and effectiveness sometime after a few hundred kilometers of travel. That number was shorter if the weapons fire was not done in a vacuum.

This, however, was a problem for the counter-boarding parties on the Colonial ships. And the metal inside walls of the great warship soon started to show how effective the Earther designed weapons were against Colonial battle rated armored plate. The answer was, that they were very effective at blasting divots and holes into the metal walls that made up the corridors of the old ship. But they were also very good at blasting equally sized holes into the attacking Cylons. The way to keep the first number as low as possible had been a training issue, which sometimes worked and sometimes did not.

Each of the attacking Cylons forces were rocked back when they ran into the human defensive points. Each Colonial battlestar had quite a few defensive points built-in back when the ships were designed not long after the start of the First Cylon War. That war had proven that they were badly needed, not long after it started.

The attacking Cylon knew this and after checking out many of the battlestars and other warship wrecks left by their surprise attack, the Cylons thought that they knew exactly where those defensive points were. Along with how to breach them when the need arose. It was just too bad that they had forgotten one of the little tenets of war. Sometimes the enemy knows what you know, and will do things to mess up your plans at a time and place of their own choosing.

Today it would seem that Admiral Adama had in fact made some additions to the internal defense layout of his ship. Ones that were not in any of the Colonial records the Cylons had captured or had seen used before today. That alone would have been enough to confuse the Cylons without the other surprises that Bill Adama had in store for them.

What were those other surprises? They were the silent weapons that could blow a Centurion in half with one or maybe two shots at most. Along with the new style of Colonial Marine battle armor worn by the human defenders today. These added to the confusion of the human forms that were directing the attack on the old warship. The humans were not fighting fair today, thought one Number One before he was blown in half by a pulse laser blast to the center mass of his body.

Every Cylon thrust going deep into the battlestar had been blunted by the humans. And they had done this in just a handful of seconds after the Cylons stumbled onto them. A Number Four was in charge of all of the landing and attacking forces. At least he was the one who had been able to live long enough to see the inside of the Colonial ship. He was reacting as fast as he could to the reports of what happened to his attack units.

He ordered his troops, both human form and Centurion, to pull back at least three corners from each point of contact with the Colonials to regroup. What the Four was not expecting was that the humans would attack while the Cylons were trying to regroup for their next attack. This group of Cylons had not learned about what happened on that hidden world.

As far as they knew and the information they had access to told them, no humans would attack a group of Cylon Centurions, except that is just what they did today. It started with only two humans breaking cover, but they attacked the retreating Cylons like they were demons in human skin. And soon more humans followed the lead pair of attacking humans.

The defensive point where this occurred was just over six meters from the main hatch leading to the battlestar's Auxiliary Damage Control room. As part of the agreement between the Earther leadership and Major Weston, the Earthborn would help with the internal defense of the flagship. This mainly was a rotational detail taken on by Major Weston's staff, but at any one time, there could be over fifty Earthers, with Earther made armor and Earther made weapons present. All working on the flagship's side of the space vessel.

Now that the flagship was at both action stations, and full repel boarders mode, there were a lot more of them to help out at different points around the ship. Though they were still spread out very thinly across the massive warship. Mostly they were detailed to stop any incursions into the area of the two attachment points between the Earth made ships and the Colonial built part of the ship.

During the First Cylon War, the Cylons would land borders on a Colonial ship and then they would try to take over three or four central control areas of the ship. From any one of those locations, they would either shut down power, take over weapon's targeting, or in their all-time favorite move, vent all of the closed compartments on a ship out to space as fast as they could.

These methods had worked time after time, so much so that the Colonial Navy had to do some major redesigns of their warships to try to counter this very effective tactic. Still the Colonial Navy's ships designers had never had come up with a way that was one hundred percent effective. That is besides the tactic of making sure that the Cylons never step foot on on the ship. After that event, the humans had fewer and fewer choices as the clock ticked down.

That tactic had not worked so well for the boarding Cylons this time. This time, it had only split up the available Cylon combat forces into smaller and more easily digestible parts. So much so that the Cylons were able to be defeated in detail, instead of making one very hard push at just one target on the old Jupiter class battlestar. Maybe if they had enough time, and maybe if their command and control was not off line, things might have been different. Then again, maybe not.

Robin and Eva were part of the counter-boarding team that the Cylons ran into face first. They were attached to a small group of Colonial Marines almost completely upgraded with Earther made armor plate inserts in their Colonial made battle armor. Each person on the team also had at least one Earth made hand weapon. The two women had drilled with this particular team for a few weeks now. And they had even had been seen in the ship's bar a few times with them. They would say that a friendship had developed between the Colonials and the pair of Earth women working on their team.

The defensive point had been well disciplined as they waited for the Cylons to come to them. But after throwing back the first attack by a mixed force of Centurions and human forms without losing a comrade to return fire, they seemed content to just slap each other in the back and smile like fools at each other for the great job they had just done. They seemed to be of the opinion that they could just stay put, and let the Cylons come to them again at a time of the enemy's choosing. The Colonials were willing to concede the initiative to the enemy. And everything that something like that might mean to the ship as a whole. In short they were playing it safe. And sometimes safe was a quick way to die.

Eva and Robin were not made that way. After the Cylons had been pushed back, the Colonials seemed content to hold this section of corridor, instead of attacking the enemy. Well, Robin just sent Eva a look that between the two no words were needed to convey the meaning of.

With a quick smile shared between them, the two armed and armored woman leaped over the purpose built barrier, and went after the still retreating Cylons. The Colonials only took a few seconds to think about what had just happened before they followed after the crazy Earthers with blood in their eyes and a blood curdling yell on their lips. The people stuck in the two battlestars had been hearing for months in the ship's bars all about how the ones who were stuck planet side had battled the Cylons. Now it was their turn to attack the Cylons and reap some those free drinks in the ship's bar after the Cylons were dealt with.

Robin was in the lead when the two women came to a corner that she could not see around that easily. She pulled a small mirror out of a side pouch, and used it to look around the obstruction the sharp metal edge gave her. All without having to poke her head around the corner. She got a good, but quick, look at the Cylons waiting about halfway to the next bend in the metal hallway.

The reason the look had been short and quick was that as she had been looking the mirror was blasted out of her hand by one of the Centurions' built in weapons before she could pull it back to safety. She might have lost the hand holding the device. That is if her hand had not been encased in a thin but strong layer of protection offered by her armored glove. Robin gave a quick and silent prayer that the Cylons' weapons sucked so badly. At least compared to the weapons and armor she had ready access to.

Robin looked at Eva and gave her a sly grin that took up her whole face. She did not notice or even look at the Colonials who had joined their little forward deployed combat group. They all had seen the fragments of mirror flying away from her hand in a shower of reflective material. That she was not even flexing the finger in the armored glove was very obvious to the non-Earthborn.

"Eva you remember that tunnel complex near old Memphis and the large bugs?" Robin was already giggling as her mind brought up the memory. And a plan was quickly formulated in her slightly warped brain as she giggled enough to make many think she was borderline crazy.

Eva looked at the other woman kneeling down in front of her with a raised her left eyebrow. "Yeah, and your point is?" Part of Eva's mind was dreading what she had a feeling was coming. The really bad part was that she did not have a better idea to counter what her friend seemed intent on. A plan is not crazy if it works. That did not mean the plan did not suck, only that it was not crazy.

Robin gave the other woman an evil smile, and made a show of checking her weapon one last time. It was totally a unneeded movement, but it was a habit that Robin picked up almost a dozen years ago. She stretched both her legs a little to get the blood flowing. And then she rose from her lowered position on the metal floor. Now she could better stretch a few other muscle groups that she was about to abuse.

Eva shook her head side to side with a disgusted look on her face and did the same. "I was afraid that was what you meant. You know, we almost didn't make it out that tunnel right? Oh well, what the frak, you only live once." Now Eva had an odd little smile on her face as she got ready to do something that might, if not get them killed, at least wounded.

Now Eva put some more effort into stretching out her own muscles. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see the strange looks the Colonials were giving her and her best friend. They had only stopped for less than a minute from the wild charge chasing down the retreating Cylons. This break would only just let them get their own breathing under control, and no time for doing much else besides that.

When Eva was as ready as she could be, she slapped Robin on the right shoulder, letting her know that she was good to go. A split second later, Robin launched herself into the open space not covered by the corner, and stared rolling shoulder over shoulder across the open kill zone. She came to a stop against the other side of the metal hallway with a heavy thud. Eva was right behind her, and came to a kneeling firing position near her friend, whose secondary mission was to be a bullet catcher for the second person. They both were bringing their weapons up to fire within a split second of each other. The Colonials on their team were still waiting in the protected hall. No one of them had told them what was about to happen, and now they were not ready to support their two crazy teammates. That was the difference between years of working together and a few months.

They pair of woman had started firing their C-14 Fire Breathers at knee to waist height into the mass of metal and flesh to their front. The Cylons had been waiting in front of them on the other side of the blocking corner. Luckily it was only a few more seconds until they were joined by the rest of the Colonials armed with a mix of Bandito and Wellington made energy weapons adding their firepower. It might have seemed quick to the Colonials, but to the Earthers and Cylons it was a long time before their weapons were added to the rain of destruction flying between the two groups of combatants. It was just long enough for the Cylons to start to think that they were only facing two human attackers. Maybe that was why they did not try to run away again at the first inclination of a renewed battle.

Both of the women were hit with many Cylon bullets within a few heart beats of each other. They were struck all over the thin body armor that covered them from head to toe. They were lucky in that the Cylons had only been equipped with their normal built in weapons. They had also loaded those lighter weapons with only the standard ammunition load that they had found worked best to kill a few humans with. If they had been carrying the heavier weapons the Cylons had started to use on New Caprica, the outcome might have been different indeed.

It was too bad that those types of round did not work on Earther made armor plate. They were little more than hollow nosed and copper lined, lead alloy bullets. This was something that the Earthers would only have used against food animals, and small ones at that. They only had one military use in this day and age. And that was as a cheap way to train young people in the finer arts of weapons marksmanship.

That did not mean that it did not hurt when they were hit. After all, all of that muzzle energy had to go somewhere. But the pair of women were just a little too busy to notice that pain. When an object moving that fast, like say a bullet, comes to a sudden stop, it has to give up all of its potential energy somehow. That somehow tended to be painful, like being hit in the groin by a baseball or a kick by a pro soccer player to the shin a few times. Like anything else in the world, one can get used to it. Eventually. It will suck badly until one does get used to it but it does happen. Besides, a little anger in the battle zone can be a good thing.

The pain the women's weapons were causing to their targets were a lot more painful per strike. Especially since it caused death to whatever Cylon it hit, and they were hitting a lot of them in a very short amount of time. It only took a few more seconds of the combined fire power from the whole team to wipe out the twenty or so Cylons that had been blocking their way. All of which had been waiting and regrouping to attack the humans again.

Eva and Robin were not that impressed with the Cylons, or their Colonial support either, as the last Cylon fell to the ground. In their minds' eye, the pair had taken all of the blocking Cylon force down, or would have been able to do it all alone. They could have done it just as well, if maybe a little slower, without any support from the Colonials in their team.

Once the firing had stopped, Eva had to help Robin get back to her feet. Eva did a quick visual check of her friend as she helped her up. Eva could not see any blood or other signs that the high tech armor might have been breached by the massive amounts of incoming Cylon small arms fire. That was a good sign. The frown on her face however was not a good sign.

When Robin 'Amazon' Ferro was fully on her feet, she started doing her own check lists. It was like a quick TSA pat down, but self-employed. When one of the nearest Colonials offered a hand to take her weapon, she slapped it away with a bit more vigor than was needed. But it was very effective, and the offered hand went back to the side of the Colonial in flash of movement.

Robin looked at the twenty something Colonial male standing about two steps to one side of her. She had fire burning in her eyes that should have been able to melt the armor off a Battlestar at a hundred paces.

"Took you frakkers long enough to get off your fraking butts and help us out." The look in her eyes matched the acid dripping from her tongue.

Now Robin looked around to the rest of the group of Colonials, before coming back to the nearest on. "So, were you just going to let them take a part of your fancy boat? Or what?" Robin was mad and sore. And if anyone would have asked, she was also more than a little hungover right then. These three items did not make her the easiest person to deal with at the best of times.

The Colonial male could only shrug his black armored covered shoulders, but still kept eye contact with Robin. One of the luckless Colonial's buddies came to his aid and spoke placatingly. "Take it easy. There were other units tasked with hunting down rovers like these. Just that the situation reversed so quickly they probably haven't gotten here yet. And if you remember from your last briefing our job was to hold that checkpoint. As it was we had to leave people behind to make sure they don't get around us. This was not part of the plan." He matched Robin's stare with his own and was not about to back down an inch.

Robin grimaced as she shifted her massive upper body around her hips. She then decided to poke the Colonial one more time, just for the fun of it. This was one of the fun things to do with member of any team she had been on.

"You know what they say about plans of mice and men don't you?" Robin had a sly grin on her face, which seemed to drive Colonial men in the bars crazy.

The young man, who had been doing all of the talking looked a little confused. And he took a few more seconds, to think his way around the question she had just thrown back into his face. While he was quiet, Eva and Robin moved over and started checking out the closest Cylon bodies that had been dropped in the ship's corridor.

After some hard thinking. The young man finally was ready to admit that he could not see where she was going with that seemingly simple statement. "No? Is it an Earther saying?"

The one that had first tried to help Robin looked around again, and then you could tell something clicked in his mind. It was like a light being turned on in a dark room. "Okay, I get its meaning."

He then walked over to a wall mounted phone that had its access panel mostly ripped off. The Colonial punched in a few numbers and signs onto the push button key pad next to the receiver. When he heard the line clear of static, he took a slight breath. This was a ship wide open line, and he would need to let whoever picked up know exactly who he wanted to reach with the information he was about to give.

"CIC Damage Control? This is Brick 4 at 67 by Point 356. We have taken out the local Cylons on this line of approach. We left some troops, non-wounded, at the predetermined position. But we have started active hunting of the Cylons on the ship. Over?"

Eva and Robin could not hear what was being said, but the Colonial did laugh as he held the device to his right ear and wedged it under his black painted helmet. Then he hung up the phone like device back into its wall mount. He finished ripping the cover panel the rest of the way off and dropped it onto the metal floor.

Both women noticed the look on his face when he turned to face the rest of the group. This gave them an idea of what might have been said. They were covertly watching him as he checked his own laser weapon. This simple act caused the rest of the half dozen Colonials, to do the same thing with their weapons. Satisfied, the leader of the Colonials was ready. He looked back to the two strange Earther women. He was the senior person, and according to Colonial military doctrine, he was in charge of this mixed force. At least, in theory he was.

He looked around to the rest of the team with a wild eyed look. "The Old Man said to stop only when we have taken the Cylon craft that are on or in his ship. He said that you Earthers."

He pointed in the general direction of the two woman. "Are in need of a new supply of high grade metal, and to go get it for you." All of this was said in the mix of English and Colonial that was starting to become the new lingua franca of the fleet.

That caused a round of laughing from the group, including a very feminine giggle coming from Eva. Robin was not in the mood, so she just ignored the young and cute Colonial. And she just started walking down the metal hall, towards the sound of metal striking on metal in a rhythmic fashion. They were going to start the active clearing of the Cylons from the flagship's insides, and they would do it one Cylon at a time.

* * *

In the battlestar's CIC, Adama had just put the handset back into its cradle. He was smiling when he looked over at Saul, but he gave a slightly negative head shake. "I think we need to work on training our marine officers and NCO's some more. They need to take and keep more initiative at their local level. It seems like the core group of our Marines need to get just a little more like our Vipers. And I cannot believe I just said that, either."

When Bill saw the eye brows of his XO rise up, Bill shook his head and shivered. _"Yea, I think I might end up regretting saying that out load, too."_ Bill turned to one side and made eye contact with another key member of his staff.

"Mr. Gaeta please pass on to all defensive points. After the first attack is repelled, the local commander may advance and pursue the Cylons. They are to use their own discretion in launching any counterattacks to start clearing my ship of enemy forces. They are to leave some forces behind at the preset defense positions as a fall back point if something goes sideways on them. But let them know that I want the Cylons off my ship. They are not however to be allowed to flee to the Heavy Raiders that brought them to our home. Hit them at the run are the orders of the day!"

He thought about something else for a few seconds, and then added some more direction that he wanted to go out to his people. "If there are any questions, then they are to contact CIC for guidance, as soon as possible."

He started shaking his head back and forth. He should not have had to add the last part, but leadership among his marine units had been an issue since the Fall of the Colonies. Both battlestars had escaped with just the barest of marine contingents. He had thought, that they had built up and trained their marine units to standards since then. He had been wrong, and Saul had been right about the way his support crews was going to act in combat. At least Bill knew that Saul had a few ideas already worked out to try to fix the problem he had seen coming before his friend and fleet commander had even seen it.

The Admiral went back to his plotting table. He needed to try to figure out what might happen next, and how he was going to counter the Cylon moves and their countermoves to his moves. He had only been looking down at the table a few seconds when the station that controlled his ship's main anti-ship weapon turrets shouted out in alarm. Bill's and Saul's heads came up like a snake striking when the words reached them.

"Sir, Gun crews Six and Nine report seeing a large group of Centurions crawling on all fours along the ship's outer hull!" This started a panic going around the CIC, trying to figure out what was happening. The outer hull of a battlestar did not have much in the way of surveillance devices mounted on it. Bill made a note into looking at fixing the blind spot that no one had noticed to this very second. Maybe the Earthers had it right, with those armored glass windows on three sides of each ship. Three sides beat no sides all day long.

"What the frak?" Saul was gobsmacked, and even with a machine modified brain, he could not come to grips with the information that had just been given to the whole CIC in a shriek.

That was something he had not thought of, so Bill asked the only question that came to his mind to work the problem. "I need more information! Where are they moving from, and in what direction are they heading? Are they attacking the weapons turrets and crews?" These were basic questions, but they were the keys for him to make a plan or to figure out what had just happened.

Bill was already reaching for the phone handle to contact Starbuck, he knew of a way to get Cylon craft off the side of his hull. He had no idea if it would work on small groups of Cylons crawling along the hull. As he was about to contact her, he realized he had never called for a small back-scratching mission before, and he had never heard of anyone else doing it either. But there were first times for everything. At least it was something the Colonial military had trained on. Though the intended purpose had been for ground support missions.

He had not seen it in the new training material being covered in the new Viper classes they had been giving. He decided they would have to bring it back, but for now he knew someone out there would know what he needed to get done. After all, you never know when you might have Cylons crawling on the outside hull of your ship in the middle of a huge frakking space battle. You know, like say, when you are in a system that the attacking Cylons were not supposed to know about. Ah, the little things like that which can give somebody more grey hair.

It was many long seconds later that the Weapons Control station, had the information the two men needed and asked for. It was in a calmer and more level voice that delivered the requested information than had shrieked out the first alert.

"Sir, they are reporting a dozen contacts moving from the starboard side of the ship towards the port hangar pod. They say that they might be able to hit one, but they would have to stop firing at the Raiders to do so. Sir, they're requesting instructions." The fire control crewman was picturing, in her mind, what a six meter wide flak round would do to a Centurion at that kind of close range.

Saul took a second phone mounted on the side of the plotting table. He quickly reviewed a battle plan in his mind, and he wanted to see if his hunch was right or not. He could see that something was not making sense. When the lined cleared of static, he tried to keep his voice very calm as he spoke into the device.

"Major Weston, are you moving your troops outside the hull of the ship?" The tone was meant to be light, but it came across stressed. In all of the excitement, no one had noticed what the Colonel was doing.

Bill could see his friend deflate a little and the stress seemed to melt out of him like a snowball in Hades. But Bill had no idea what might have happened, to have caused this change. He was just about to okay the order to the heavy twin turrets to fire at the hull walking metal beasts. He stopped in mid reach, when he saw his second in command give him a hand sign that he knew very well, without needing words to reinforce what it meant.

Saul gave Bill a thumbs up a sign again, and this time he pointed to the receiver and gave the thumbs up sign again. The older Adama turned to the rest of the CIC, and he was not pleased with his people. He could feel the heat rising in his face, and only a little bit of it was defused by the words that started to fall out of his mouth.

"Tell the gun crews to keep on firing into the attacking Cylon Raiders. Let all of them know that those are not Cylons. And if the frakkers had studied the image files we gave them on friend and foe equipment, they would have known it without freaking out my Staff with their frakked up reporting!" Bill had let even more heat come into his voice than he had wanted it to carry. He was already working on a way to stop the same thing from happening again. Then again he just might make the gun crews commanders work on that little project.

Saul was still on the line with the attached Earth ships. "Thanks Major. Yes, it caused us some years off of our lives over here." Saul put the horn shaped device back in its mount, and then he pitched his voice to carry to all corners of the CIC. After taking a lung full of air, he went into full bellowing mode.

"He's moving some of his people over to cover the hangar pod from the outside. He said that he sent a message over to us before he started moving his people around. He's checking from his end, on what happened to it. I'm going to find out who dropped the ball! And then I will have them scrubbing water tanks for the rest of the frakking trip! I don't care how they fit in my chain of command! Their frakking ass in mine!"

Saul let his voice drop a lot, so that this next statement would not carry as far. People later would claim that they heard the last bellow through the blast doors and decks below the CIC. He did not want his next words to hit the ships rumor network before he had a chance to fix a few things, or catch a few people flat footed with what he was planning.

"Bill, I'm going to need to go down-check the gun turret crews for some retraining on IFF of all types. I should do it to all of them. I don't think it was just those two crews, that are going to cause issues."

Saul made a sour face as he put words to the thoughts rattling around in his head. Down-checking a gun crew was not a trivial event on a Colonial warship even when in dock. Wanting to down-check a dozen complete turret crews in a time of war, that would have been a sign of a major fleetwide issue of some kind.

Bill nodded in agreement, and let his heart rate slow down a little. He returned his own phone to its proper place on the command table. He was thinking how close a blue on blue event had come to be a fact of life. It would not have been good to have his Vipers make a firing run against Major Weston's troops or having a heavy weapons gun crew fire into his people. He had no doubt that the Major's troops would have returned fire, into those attacking Vipers or weapons turrets in self-defense. That is just what troops did when someone is shooting at them.

Bill had no doubt in the world that he would have lost Vipers and pilots in that exchange. But Weston's troops probably would have just had some good sized dents in their Earther built armor. Bill had to force himself to shift away from the almost disaster to have to deal with the attacking Cylons again. He felt the wetness under his arms start to spread out, to cover more of his undershirts.

 _"So much for a milk run,"_ thought Bill Adama carefully inside his own head. _"Well, old boy, you need to get back on the job and make this day worth it in the end."_

* * *

The attacking Raiders and Heavy Raiders shifted formation once again. This time they wanted to try to come in only on the starboard side of the great warship. The reasoning was that they assumed this side to be the one with the most damage. It should have been the safer way to approach the battlestar. After all, something must have kept the other hangar pod from deploying. And that something could only have been heavy battle damage.

Just as the Cylon attack craft adjusted their attack vectors, the hell weapons struck the Raiders in full force. The only thing that the Cylons knew about these weapons, was that they were being fired from the close-in weapons turrets near the massive bow of the warship. It was a mistake that the Cylon craft would not live to regret.

As soon as the Cylon craft cleared the blocking hull of the Battlestar, they ran right into masses of Earther technology based weapons being fired at them. In defense of the flagship Captain Kelly and Major Weston had cleared every weapon to fire if they had a target. What was the use of conserving ammunition if you died with a boat load of ammunition left in your weapons storage? Wild shooting would not be tolerated and each of the gun captains knew that someone would be checking up the battle recordings later. Misses were okay and too many misses might get a crew down-checked and penalized with loss of pay as they were retrained. That was nothing of course. The worst part would be the ribbing they would be getting in the mess hall from their peers.

It was a strange mix of fire the Cylons ran into, but that did not mean it was any less deadly when it impacted the Cylon ships. There was the white lightning of ion bolts, reddish fire balls from plasma cannons, streams of rail gun darts, and exploding fire balls from the five inch cannons shooting high explosive rounds. Add to that the odd exhaust trails from mini missiles and short ranged missiles flying right into the teeth of the Cylon attack craft. Even a few of the medium class missiles were fired. The latter of those weapon were only going after the Cylons that had been smart enough to try to make a run for the other side of the oddly shaped Colonial battlestar the fastest. The Cylons' attacking numbers dropped to the last dozen attack craft in a blink of an eye.

The strangest and probably most unnerving to the Cylons were the strange spikes of invisible infrared light that burned through their armor plate like it was newspaper in a camp fire. The humans just called them lasers. The Cylons that survived the attack or were able to download later would only call them 'Invisible Death', or on very bad days "God's Glance". This is when the Number Ones were paying attention to anyone else. Soon the Resurrection room was filled with Cylons waiting to get a new hull. Not one of the craft shot down and able to download again would be able to launch for a second attack. There was just not enough time, and the humans were not interested in anything like a fair fight.

The fewer and fewer Cylons ships were able to cross the gap to try to dock and unload the Cylons carried in their holds. Combat Robots and EBA were now roaming the metal hull of the battlestar in packs of two or three looking for them. They were taking pains to make sure any Heavy Raider attached to the hull did not stay fully functional for long. Most of the time this was done with just some kind or a combination of physical attacks instead of weapons fire to save on ammunition. Or it could have been just that the pilots of those machines thought it was more fun doing what they had been told to do as an end state. Not one of the Heavy Raiders that landed on the outer hull of the human ship was able to return to the Cylon base for a second load of Centurions and human form Cylons.

The counter-boarding teams inside the warship were okay with this, because the newly landed Cylons now had no place to escape to when they found out what they had gotten their feet stuck into within the great warship. This was not the only place the Earthers and their walking tanks were impacting the Cylon attack force. The heavy firepower Major Weston had deployed to both ends of the flight pod were also having a good old fashioned turkey shoot.

These two teams would wait for the Heavy Raiders, now that all of the smaller Raiders were gone, to line up for an approach for a hard landing in the hanger bay. The Earthers would then fire into the slowing ships as they tried to crash land into the bread box like flight pod. The battlestar's artificial gravity would then grab onto the slowly moving wreckage and pull them down to the flat landing area hard. It was leaving dents in the landing deck that were already driving Chief Tyrol slowly nuts. The Cylons were now trapped on the battlestar that they had wanted to land on so hard in the first place. It falls into that category of a curse that both the Earthers had and certain older Colonials were known to advocate.

 _"Be careful what you wait or wish for. You may just get it, in the end."_

The mixed group of Earthers in EBA and combat Robots only numbered twenty on each end of the landing bay. There were never more than three suits that looked exactly the same in any of the trainings that had been conducted in the past. The same was true now. But they all had the firepower for whatever the job called for. Major Weston himself was in his personal X-545 Super Hunter on the aft end of the Colonial flight pod.

He had an evil grin on his face, although no one else could see. He had not been able to pull out this beast when they had been fighting the Cylons on the ground. He was the commander of the ground forces. So, he had to be the Commander and not just another trigger puller. Now that they were in space, he could finally get some trigger time in, and the Cylons had just volunteered to be the targets for him to work out a few years of frustration on. He used the fire control systems on his German made suit, and lined up on two Heavy Raiders coming into range. When he got two green circles that said he was good to go, he hit the transmit button first.

"Okay I have the next two. Chuck, lay off the trigger this time. Or I will break it off when we get back inside."

A round of chuckles carried over the radio's speakers. Chuck was known to take out any Cylon that just happened to cross his path while he had a loaded weapon. And it did not matter who had claimed the target beforehand. Sometimes this could even be called okay, in case someone missed their called shots.

Weston put his two rail guns on the lead Heavy Raider, and then put the head laser and Ion cannons on the second craft. That second craft was about a thirty meters behind the first Cylon craft. By now Mike was not even noticing all of the spots of lights that were the stars wrapping around his entire field of view. It was just another bit of back ground data for to him file away, like trees in a massive forest. Mike did a quick glace to make sure that both of the legs of his machine were wedged into a crevice on the hull. He double-checked the jury-rigged magnetic clamps just to be sure. Between the two he should be covered in terms of recoil or any other issue that the maneuvering ship might cause. Mike could feel the slightly under one gravity pull of the massive warship he was standing on. But it was a long way to the next area that had air to breath, so a little extra caution was called for.

Weston put the two rail guns on the lead target. He was aiming for the Centurion looking head mounted off to one side of the nose of the oddly shaped craft. The second craft was going to get the attention of the Ion cannons. And the aim point for these weapons was the same as the first craft. For just a few seconds, Mike thought that he just ought to fire at one target. That thought went out the window.

Without any more unnecessary thoughts, the two Rail guns fired. The twin burst had sixty rounds out of the cannons and quickly flying the few hundred feet to the first Cylon craft. The twin burst started striking the craft just below the externally mounted Centurion like head. They blew double fist sized holes through the outer armor and sent the remains of the hard rounds, and bits of shattered armor plate called spall, into the cargo areas of the craft. The craft now had no one to control it, and it slowly started to twist along its short axis as it disappeared from sight below the lip of the aft end of the hangar pod.

Major Weston's chest mounted Ion cannons also struck in the general area of where they were aimed at on the second craft. Instead of the twin line of massive holes punched into the armor caused by rail gun fire, round holes were blown into the top of the craft going all the way out the armored bottom of the craft by the Ion blasts. This second craft also started to pitch down, and it flipped end over end until it coasted into the open Colonial landing bay. In less than a minute it was resting next to the others of its kind in the slowly filling landing area.

Weston was watching with a slight smile on his face as the latest targets disappeared from view. He knew that they had most likely not killed every Cylon on those two craft he had just blasted. From what they had been told, about one to five Cylons would dig themselves out of the wrecks. That is unless one of his people hit thing like fuel tanks. Then it was all over but for the flying high-speed shrapnel that would be swept up later.

A crackle came through Weston's and the rest of the team's built in speakers. One of the changes that came with the exchange of ideas between the Earthers, Colonials and Cylon POWs was that the Cylons did not want to absorbed among the refugees of the Rag Tag Fleet. They wanted their own identity. But the Earthers and POWs had one joint area to work with, and that was the area of electronic warfare. They had been focused on a way to help complete a given mission. It was just starting and it was still a very small tight-knit group of some very flexible Cylon thinkers.

That group had been monitoring, in real time, any communication that might be coming from the Cylon craft attacking the battlestar. So far it was a very short ranged skill. But it was just a matter of time before the range, skills, and support equipment got better. The human form called Kathy was the specialist on duty. She was the main point of contact between any of the fighters and this new section.

"Major Weston, we did not pick up transmissions of any kind from that last group. It seems that they only report back to their base when they decide to line up on a target area. They are coming in fat, dumb, and happy to the slaughter."

One would have thought that a Cylon talking about the slaughter of other Cylons would make that voice sound odd. In Kathy's case, she felt more at home with the human Earthers than she ever had with the Cylons living under the leadership of the Number Ones. She sounded so happy with the destruction of the Cylon attack force, Mike could almost see her bouncing up and down in her chair through the radio transmission.

Mike felt that his eyes wanting to go cross eyed on him. This was too good to be true. "Are you sure, you're picking up nothing coming from them? Could they have changed something, and your people can't pick up on it?"

Kathy shot a look to the top of the cabin she was using to hold the equipment that she was working on. And she counted to ten, slowly, before she even thought about pressing the transmit button again. After counting, she understood that the Major was not questioning her skills. It was only that he was working the problem. One that she had just given him.

"We are picking up the active carrier wave from those craft. It's just that they seem not to be using it that much. They are acting almost Colonial like, but without the good parts to outweigh the bad habits they have."

Weston took the time to look around the area. There was a lull in the Cylon attackers coming his way aside from what he had just shot. If others came by to say hi, they would be greeted by some of his other fighters. Those fighters were standing to his left and right. They would take turns unless the next wave turned into a mad attack for some reason.

"Thanks Kathy, if you have not passed this along to the flagship CIC, please let the Colonials know what you think."

* * *

In the heart of the great ship the CIC was buzzing with activities and noise. Saul looked at his friend, and gave him a wicked smile. "Looks like they're not liking what they tried to bite into, Admiral. How long do you think until they start trying to jump away and escape the party?" Saul was pleased over all, but he would not let it show on his face for anyone to see. Not yet, at least. He had a reputation to protect.

Bill was looking as the battle play out on the displays mounted around the room, and took a few seconds to answer his oldest friend. There were no heavy missile coming at them, and no Cylon capital ships. The stress level was pretty much equal to any of the thousand training events they had so far. The damage done to his ship so far was minimal. But he knew that could change at any second. All it would take was one of the Cylon boarding teams reaching a critical point.

Bill bit his upper lip. He did not want to jinx or call down the great god Murphy on them when things seemed to be going so well. "It should have started happening already, if they were behaving normally. They have to know that an attack took down the base behind them by now. They should have started leaving as soon as they lost contact with their higher authority."

Bill stopped talking for a second, and pitched his voice to carry to the whole CIC. "Someone, make sure to tell Starbuck. That she will owe me, for every one of those frakkers she lets jump away from us. And I will expect prompt payment, and she is not going to like the payment I will be collecting."

Bill turned to look at his XO, and his voice was not in full command mode any more. "Saul, please make sure you copy the information about the weapons profile data that we are getting from the Revenge. I want to have a better read on how effective their weapons turned out to be against the real thing." Bill was smiling as the numbers of attacking Cylons were still dropping to where the Colonials outnumbered the remaining Cylon craft. So, a higher percentage of Cylon craft would be on the Battlestar versus flying around it.

Even after six months of traveling together and fighting together, the Colonials still had very little testing data on most of the weapons the Earthers could bring into action. This was mainly due to the ammunition situation, and the lack of targets. That being, that the Colonials were not going to be able to replace any used targets or the more exotic ammunition the Earthers would have used. At least for anything that they used in the short term, to years in the future.

Now the Flagship would be able to get detailed data and be able to compare it to Colonial and Cylon weapons and armor a lot more accurately than had ever been done before. All of the data would be useful in any future combat planning. Planning that would have to be done after they had finished cleaning up this little mess that they had found themselves hip deep in.

Bill looked down again and reviewed the data that had been sent to the CIC from the small Electronic Attack center Major Weston was setting up over on the Earth ships. He had to agree that they Cylons were not acting normal. They were acting a bit more regimented, and they were still not learning when a bad play should be changed mid fight. But at least the Cylons were still using the same old equipment they had started this war with. The same could not be said of the humans that they were fighting. Bill had an evil little smile on his face as he looked down at the table, which very few could see.

 _"Oh how the times, they be a changing,"_ sang threw Bill Adama's mind.

What the Colonials did not know about this enemy was that under the rules of the Cylon Empire, only the human forms could think for themselves. The rest of the Cylons were just combat units following the last orders given to them by the more advanced human forms. This also went for the 'lower ranked' human forms.

Without communication between the attackers and its supporting or launching base, they kept attacking. Just as instructed by the last orders to be sent out from their command circuits. And the few human forms inside their hulls did not know about the base going off the air. The Raiders and Heavy Raiders biological units could not even tell the any of the human forms about the issue. That was because they were not programmed to send any alerts to non-command Cylons. It was only after certain, and very specific criteria were met that the few remaining Cylon ships could jump away from the battle, on their own orders. By that time, it was too late for any useful numbers of Cylons to escape.

When the last Cylon winked out of space on one of the battlestar's large displays, the command center of the warship did not erupt into cheers this time. Bill turned to face the group, and he had the look on his face that said "I am not happy". Bill used his most gruff voice to address the command center.


	14. Chapter 14 Aftermath

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 14 Aftermath**

Bill Adama looked around the flagship's CIC with a deep scowl on his face. This made his face look even more battered than normal. "How many got away? I want a damage report, and Mr. Gaeta? Please prep a Raptor to fly back to the rest of the fleet. I want those mining ships back right frakking now! And I also want one of the salvage ships to come with them. I don't care which one comes, but I want one here right the frak now. I want them all prepped for both space and ground operations. We have an opportunity, and I don't want to waste it!"

Bill could see some of the confusion on their faces. He hated having to explain his orders, but this time, he could understand the looks that he was seeing from his staff. A little investment in time now will make it easier for the command staff to do their jobs in the next few days. He stood up a little straighter and addressed his staff using 'The Voice'.

"They will be back, but I don't think it will be anytime soon. They are at the end of an even longer support chain than they were back at New Caprica."

Bill looked his XO in the eyes before continuing. "And I think that the Cylons were kind enough to leave a working refinery down there, so why not take our fill of their fuel? I don't want to leave anything for those frakkers when they do get back."

Admiral Adama was thinking that any of the Cylon craft left in this system had to know they were too far out to find another base with the fuel that remained in their tanks. They were only trying to survive this small battle to buy themselves some time. They would most likely go and find a small out of the way place to hide. Some rally point set up some time ago where they could shut down and conserve fuel. Eventually they would come back to this base to see if the humans were still here or not. That would be the worst-case course of action they could take, but it was what he could come up with from a human point of view and with the information he had at hand.

As soon as Bill had stopped talking to the whole CIC, one of the stations already had an answer to one of the questions. And so it was given out and then sent to one of the display screens for the rest of the staff to see.

"Sir. Only four Heavy Raiders are known to have been able to outrun the Vipers and the longer ranged missiles launched from the Revenge. They are confirmed to have jumped out of the battle, but all were giving readings as having taken damage to some degree or another. There might have been one or two more that slipped out without us getting a count on them. But that should be about it, unless they had some other craft that they did not commit to the attack." The smile could be heard in the voice as the information was given out.

Felix jumped into the flow of information before another person could finish or even start their reports. "We have a jump signature! A big one!"

His voice cut through the background noise like a bullet through paper and his hands were flying over his work station. Then he looked up, but he was still talking in his still developing command voice. In a few seconds his shoulders slumped in some relief. This was visible to his commander and the XO. Without him saying a word, those two senior officers knew what Felix was about to say.

"We're getting a Colonial transponder, Sir. She's the Pegasus." The sudden rush of adrenaline was now matched by an equally abrupt crash at the realization of what must have happened.

A few seconds after Felix's statement, a voice came over the main speakers in the CIC. It came over loud, clear, and familiar to the whole crew. "Galactica actual, this is Pegasus actual. We heard you had some trouble. Is everything okay? Can we be of any assistance?"

After a pause of a few seconds, a touch of a grin entered the voice and carried over into the words that reached the flagship. "There does not seem to be much left here for us to do?" The voice also had a bit of surprise, as the magnitude of what had taken place in this system was picked up by the other battlestar's systems.

Bill picked up a communications handset and spoke a little more softly than he did some of the other times he dealt with his son. "Good to hear from you, son. It seems that the Cylons put up a base on our target after the Final Five were thrown out of their happy little group. All they had for mobile units were a frakking ton load of Heavy Raiders and some Raiders thrown in to make life interesting for Starbuck and her crew. Maybe half a dozen got away from us before you showed up."

Bill made his voice get just a little harder as he went back into command mode. He also started talking just a little louder, so that the rest of his staff could hear him. "I need you to get back to cover the fleet for me. And I want you to send the fuel ships back with at least one salvage ship rigged for space and gravity operation."

With the orders given to the other warship, Bill thought that the orders to get the Raptor ready to launch would be automatically stopped by his own staff. No questions would be asked, it just would be canceled. He was expecting that his son was going to take the orders he had been given and execute them. He might have been wrong about one or two of those things.

It was quiet on the transmitter for a few long seconds as Lee Adama worked through the meaning of his orders. When he thought that he had seen all of the angles, he asked his father and fleet commander a question.

"Are you sure you don't want us to stick around this system? We're still at about half fuel load for all of the ships. We could go for a few more months without any major additional restrictions. Maybe we could find fuel in another system down the road before then?" This was not a son questioning his father. It was a fellow warship commander offering up an alternative course of action for the current situation. It was a fine line, but one Lee Adama had grown used to have to be very aware of both in private and in public.

"Lee, they were refining fuel here already. I plan on taking all we can carry. Then I'm going to look around a little, and I'm going to see if we can find anything else of value that's even close to being portable to be worth the risk and time. Then I'm going to blow the place into little pieces so they can't use it against us or anyone else later." There was a full load of venom in Bill's voice as he finished his statement.

Bill could hear his son thinking over the slightly static filled device. Bill did not rush his son and fellow ship commander. After what seemed like half a minute later, Lee's voice came back after a fresh set of eyes looking at the problem Bill had found himself in.

"We could go get the fleet and bring them here. I don't think we should separate our firepower for that long and risk being defeated in detail by any Cylons that might have been missed. And we don't know if there are more Cylon bases or baseships running around this section of space."

Lee stopped talking for a few seconds. When his voice came back through the handset, his tone was a little lighter but also had just a little more edge to it. "Do I need to have the President tell you the same thing?" He had just cast his dice and who knows how they were going to turn out.

Bill felt his face break out into a smile, but before he could say anything a second voice spoke up that was a lot nearer to the Admiral physically.

"Frak that was low blow! But the kid might have a point or two there Bill." Saul said in a laughing voice as he tilted his head to see how the older Adama was going to take the poke from his son. After all, the father had been wanting the son to start taking the long view. The same way a fleet commander needed to do for a whole fleet of ships.

Bill made a sourer face that was directed at his second in command. Then he pulled the handset closer to his face to make the conversation a bit more private. He was still looking at Saul as he spoke into the device.

"Lee, I don't want to put the whole fleet at risk. That was why we only sent one battlestar to escort the mining ships here and left you with the rest of the fleet in the first place." Bill pitched his voice low so that the rest of the CIC would have a problem hearing what he was saying. He did not want it to be known that the fleet commander was having a disagreement with another ship's commander.

Lee could tell that his father had put them on a more private line without needing to be told. It was the tone of voice that he used to address the question that had been dropped on him. "Dad, I understand. But the more hands we can put on the task, the faster we can be done with it and get the frak out of here. All while hopefully not being seen or tracked. How many trips back to the staging area would you have to do if you ended up staying long enough to fill all our tanks? What if they do show back up? Having both of our warships here will make it easier to buy enough time for the other ships to get out of here safely if that happens. You've seen the projections, same as I have. They would have to have six or more Basestars in one attack to really hurt us now."

Lee lowered his own voice so that only his wife could hear what he was about to say. "What are the odds that they'd just happen to have that much of a fleet sitting all the way out here? If the Cylons show back up in force, it's more likely that seeing two battlestars will cause them to leave without firing a shot. Or we could blow them out of space faster than we can get out of any mess. You know Roslin will agree with me."

Lee had gotten used to dealing with his father as a near equal, and having access the civilian leadership. The recent times had only increased his skills at working in those areas. Now he was not afraid to use or more to the point, not misuse that line of attack. And it also helped that he now had enough exposure to Roslin to have a good idea of how the woman thought.

Bill's mouth turned from a slight smile into a thin tight line on his craggy face. The bad thing about it was that the longer he thought about his son's reasoning, the more it seemed to be the right thing to do. Bill took the time and reviewed his line of thinking and then his son's. He was also looking at Saul who was now listening in quietly on the backup handset, nodding his head in agreement with Lee Adama.

"Okay. You win this time, Lee. But I think you're spending too much time with her talking about politics. Get out of here and bring back the rest of fleet. I will start occupying the Cylon ground base and cleaning up any ground forces. We'll be waiting for you to get back. Have fun dealing with the Quorum when they find out this was your idea."

Bill Adama slammed the phone like device down, so hard, he might have broken the thing if it had not been designed for just that kind of abuse. But right about then, he did not care one little bit if he broke the device or not. He looked around the room with fire in his eyes, though his voice was almost normal. Bill put both fists on the central table, and stared deep into the lit device for a full ten seconds before addressing his staff.

"Mr. Gaeta, cancel the Raptor launch. Pegasus will be bringing the fleet back to us. I want the CAP brought in for refueling, and any damage evaluated and lined up to be repaired. Have Starbuck move more of the Vipers forward of our position. I don't want any more surprises coming from that base."

Now Bill locked eyes with his smirking second in command. "Please contact Major Weston and Captain Kelly and thank them for a job well done. Ask them if they will be able to support a ground landing of combat forces. I want to seize the Cylon ground base with them in the lead. Launch the SAR birds and have them check everything out that might still have breathable air. I also want them to start marking anything floating out there that might be useful with a DRADIS transponder. They are to use their best judgment."

Bill leaned forward, but pulled both of his fists off of the table top. He glared at it so hard that it should have tried to crawl away from the force of it. He was madder at himself than at his son, but he was going to have to talk to him about bringing the President up in a time like this. Saul was right. That was a very low blow. Right up there with someone asking to talk to one's mother.

Saul did not say anything more to Bill, he did not need to. He just looked at his friend, not wanting to risk this renewed level of friendship by saying the right thing at the wrong time. He could see both sides of the issue that this Fleet Commander had just run into. The only outward thing that he did was to look up and over to the the ship's de facto third in command Felix Gaeta.

He could see him moving quietly among the communications area at the next ring of duty stations. The ones that surrounded the center area dominated by the Admiral and himself. Saul slowly walked over and started helping to get all of the orders out to the rest of the fleet ready and just waiting for their arrival.

Felix went about his orders, most of which did not need to be given, without saying a word to his commanders. He walked around to a few of the stations and touched shoulders here and there. He had seen the Old Man like this before, but only once or twice. And he wanted to reassure a few of the thinner-skinned and younger staff personnel that everything was okay.

This would also allow him to look over the odd shoulder without being noticed. He was double-checking to make sure that those orders had not been necessary. As it turned out Felix had to make corrections twice at different stations. While he was fixing those issues, he made notes on those two personnel for additional training. That would be for a later time though, and away from the prying eyes of both the Admiral and the Colonel.

It was fifteen minutes later that the great ship slid into orbit of the small planetoid that held the Cylon base. It slowed down and came to a stop directly overhead of the damaged and still slightly smoking Cylon ground base. They were not met by any more rising enemy fire, or any more defending Raiders. If there were any Cylon space craft left in this star system, they were being very quiet so as to not draw the attention of the leviathan upon them.

The base was very quiet below the Colonials sitting in low orbit. It was like the old battlestar was floating over a Cylon cemetery. This did not make Bill, Saul or even Starbuck comfortable at all. They could feel the goosebumps start to form on the skin of their arms as the clock ticked to higher and higher numbers.

The last Cylon had been put down by the mix of Major Weston's personnel and Colonial counter-boarding teams on the flagship. Not one of the Cylons had given up, but after the first rush of boarding, it was they who were on the back foot within the metal hull of the human warship. Even before the last Cylon had fallen, the Colonial repair crews were already on the job. Those repair teams were competing with a new type of team being set up within the fleet.

Adama only had a few of those new teams set up ahead of the battle. They were dedicated recovery teams, and that was all they would do. The training was designed and implemented by John Keller and his partner in crime Joseph Vo. The Earthers had done a major push to recover any and every bit of whatever was left after a battle. It had not taken long for them to push for the idea of, and convince others of the pressing need for, those collection and recovery teams.

Bill was starting to get concerned, thinking they might have walked into a trap. Things were going too well, and he was thinking about all the plans he would have drawn up. That started to change as more information came into the CIC. Athena and Kathy, working together over at one of the Earther ships, were able to remotely download a set of deck plans for this ground base. They were able to do this by using a set of human form codes that had apparently not been changed.

As it turned out, the Cylons only had two or three different plans for ground bases on a planet like this. This would prove very helpful when the human troops hit the ground. They should be able to find their way around the place without too much trouble or worrying about getting lost while fighting any remaining Cylons. Hopefully, they would at least be able to navigate and find what they were looking for in a timely manner. Now all that needed to happen was for anything useful to not be damaged too much by the air attack or the ground assault.

Bill looked around the CIC. He reviewed all of the data that was there and any new updates. He paid close attention to what his long ranged DRADIS screen was telling him. It was showing clear of any active enemy units. It was also showing a growing number of DRADIS markers. Everyone was waiting for him to make the next move.

Bill looked over to Saul and let out a little breath. "Okay Saul, launch the ground teams. I still want to keep as many Vipers out as we can. This is going to be a long day."

Those simple words started an avalanche of activity. This time it was not high-speed space superiority fighters coming out of tubes. This time they were larger, slower and coming out of both sides of the battered looking warship.

The cargo shuttle was not the best assault landing craft the Colonial Military had ever used. It was however, the only one that Admiral Adama and Major Weston had on hand capable of carrying the tall and hulking Earther weapons to a planet's surface. At least in anything like useful numbers so the ground forces did not get defeated in detail as they landed.

There were the massive heavy lifter craft the fleet had picked up from the Cylons on New Caprica, but those were down to only two that were anywhere like fully operational. It had been decided to stop all operation of those two remaining craft some months ago. The current plan was for their hulls to add living space to four of the most overcrowded civilian crewed ships. That conversion was still going to be a few long months away.

The small craft of the civilian made GAL class was carrying a mixed group of Colonial Marines equipped with Rifts Earth weapons and armor and six to nine-foot-tall armor covered Earthers. The total number was a hundred and twenty Human troopers landing on the planet. They were just getting a perimeter set up when the alarms on the old battlestar went off and everyone's nerves went on edge once again at the speed of light.

The old battlestar's CIC was on edge with half of the staff watching the planet's surface and the other half keeping an eye out on deeper space just in case the Cylons returned. So when the systems on the flagship, and the outlying Raptors, announced that something big had just jumped close to the last location of the old girl, the same location that the Cylons last knew the great warship to be in before she started moving towards the planet and the scene of the last battle, it was too much like the way Cylons liked to work for the staff to be comfortable. Everyone was still edge from the last battle.

More than one hand had gone to the emergency buttons at their consoles. By the time the twentieth ship had appeared in the system, the mood in the CIC was more relaxed. The elapsed time from first contact to this point was only a dozen seconds. Soon after the third alert, the flagship's staff were able to read the Colonial signals from ships the crew had known for years. The Pegasus and the other surviving members of the Rag Tag fleet had rejoined the old fleet flagship.

After all the ships were in system, they broke up into their normal supporting groups. These ships had worked together now for years without any issues. And over the last six months of operation, it had knocked off any rust that had formed under Cylon occupation. The largest group of ships carried most of what remained of the population of the Colonies of Kobol. The second largest group was the fuel ships and refineries. They immediately started moving into orbit around the small planetoid to await landing and loading of the needed fuel.

The third set of ships was escorted by a fresh set of Vipers and Raptors that had come from the Mercury class Battlestar at their center. This group of ships quickly started picking up any nearby clumps of refined metal before even looking to see if this system had anything else to offer that the humans might need. They had the time to do a very thorough job. So they were going to take any advantage that they could squeeze out of what had been so kindly left for their use by the fleeing Cylons. The humans did not want to waste anything.

* * *

Bill, Saul, and Felix were watching a single Earther supplied monitor relaying a video feed from four of the troopers on the ground simultaneously. The images were first sent to the Revenge, where it was then relayed to the CIC of the Colonial flagship.

Any action in space fell under Bill Adama's purview as its commander. Ground combat on the other hand, was not his or any of the other surviving Colonials' strong suit. It was not like any ground commander more senior than the odd marine lieutenant or two made it off the Colonial home planets alive to join what would become the Refugee fleet. In ground combat the Earthers were the leaders and experts. All they needed was to be given the mission. Oh, and get out of their way.

As Bill watched the ultra-high definition sixty-inch screen, he thought that he could get addicted to the amount of information flowing into his command center. All of it provided by the feed from the warfighters at the pointed end of the stick. Both he and Saul thought it strange that the ground troopers did not find any Cylons for the first twenty minutes that they were on the ground and inside the battle damaged base. All they saw was minute after minute of empty corridor. The first contact with the Cylons seemed almost by accident, not by any design or plan made by the Cylons.

That had been the way of contact after contact by the human ground forces. Even after that they only found a few scattered Cylons. The point person in EBA would often take a corner only to come face to face with one to four Cylons. In more than a few occasions, it would be the Cylons taking a corner and coming face to face with the heavily armed and armored humans. It did not matter how it happened. The end state was always the same. A pile of wreckage in one of the ground base's corridors. Even that did not happen as often as anyone had expected it to.

That is until they made it to the manufacturing area of the Cylon ground base. Even that area only held a grand total of twenty Centurions all under various states of repair. It was Felix who came up with the idea of why they were there. To him, it seemed like the metal Cylons were having some problems adapting to the lower gravity of the cold little world.

Bill had looked at him with a questioning look, but had agreed with him. The Earthers had not been much help, they barely had any experience working in any gravity other than Earth's, or more recently New Caprica's. The science behind it was that the lower gravity allowed a machine to travel a lot faster. It was just too bad that this quickly overstressed the internal structure of the Centurions when they did sudden stops or turns. The torque would cause the Centurions to overcompensate, and over time stress on the internal structure accumulated until something inevitably snapped. The bases had artificial gravity, but these problems came up when they patrolled away from the buildings of the base.

When the EBA equipped troops forced their way into what remained of the Cylon CIC, they found it filled only with cold and dead human form Cylons splayed around the room. It would seem that the human forms could not breathe the near vacuum and rare gases that was the planet's only atmosphere. The repeated strafing runs by the two Earther piloted Vipers seemed too have gotten a very lucky shot in on the Cylon base after all of the weapons and electronic support systems had been taken out.

One or two of the hits seemed too have somehow popped the environmental seal on this part of the base. In doing so, the two Vipers had ensured that almost all of the human forms were dead within a few minutes of their last strafing pass. The Colonial Marines had found the few remaining human form Cylons in a sealed off habitation area of the base. When the blast doors had fallen and locked into place, they had been separated from anything important, like combat rated space suits.

Until recently, the base was too small for a hybrid, but it looked like they were making room to emplace second one in the near future or the next phase of the base's expansion. Now it was a wasted effort, because it would be easier to build a whole new base instead of repairing what had been done so far to the mining base. The one hybrid that had just been installed had died when that part of the base lost its atmospheric seals. This was both good and bad for both the attackers and defenders.

The Colonial troopers asked the human form Cylons to surrender twice before they even tried to breach the area they were held up in. Each time the request was answered with weapons fire, and the odd hand-thrown explosive coming back at the Colonials. That did even more damage to the base. With all of the ground forces in Earth made EBA and Colonial made combat space suit prototypes, it did not matter if the fighters were surrounded by air or the odd noble gasses from the planet's surface. The same could not be said of the few remaining Cylons.

None of the Colonials or Earthers were hurt by the Cylons' antics. More than a few Colonials had checked their newly modified body armor for damage after taking a hit on their reinforced transparent faceplates. There were smiling eyes, and rapid fist pumps. After the third request to give up had been answered once more with weapons fire, the Colonial Marines finally charged into the room with weapons blazing. Colonial operated Chipwell Challengers led the way right through the enemy fire aimed their way at face and chest level.

It was a little fool hardy, and half of the Colonials were hurt to some degree by the enemy weapons fire. Thankfully none were killed. Some might have felt like it, even before Major Weston and Colonel Tigh got a hold of them, but no permanent damage was done to the mixed force of human attackers.

None of the Cylons survived the encounter with the attacking humans. The last two human forms took their own lives before the Colonials could take them prisoners. Each of the Marines had a mini camera, so that they could prove later that they did not just kill the Cylons out of hand. It did not completely vindicate the troopers because of the limited view provided by the devices. It was, however, good enough for a court of law. Even if not in the court of public opinion, or overactive imagination of political muckrakers in the future. The ones that were only alive because of the actions of people they looked down on in the past.

It took over two hours to finish searching and securing the Cylon facility. And it could only have been done that fast because of help from the Cylons who had joined or were willingly working with the humans in the rag tag fleet. The mixed group was able to defuse the delayed action explosives and emergency beacon that the last human forms had been trying to set off. All while they delayed the human attack force at their last defensive point.

After the base was cleared and safe but before noncombatants could be allowed to land, everyone had to agree first on the idea that it was indeed cleared and safe for them to be in the base. This was something new and the Colonials had not worked up any plans that they could dust off in short order.

Things had happened so fast that there were no plans in place to do this effectively. So they would have to have a meeting before anything else could be done dirtside. The meeting between the entire leadership of the fleet would be using a mix of Earther and Colonial technologies. It was the only way for such an undertaking to be doable at all. The meeting was being attended by people at four different locations around the local space. It was a first for Bill Adama, and he still was not sure he liked it, but it had to be done. And this was the quickest way to do it. Bill did not want to show it but he was still on edge after the battle.

Major Weston was the first one to speak in this unique meeting, and looked at his computer screen that was broken up into four different sections. "We are running a second round of checks on the ground base, but we need to decide what we are going to do. And we need to do so quickly. My first request, which came from my units in the field, mostly Athena and Kathy if any one wants to know, is permission to rip out the main physical data interface system of the base all the way down to the mounting bulk heads. They think they will be able to pull, and read all the files it might be holding after it lost power. That is, if they are given enough time. Right now, it would seem that a firewall was tripped, locking all the data down. If this base had had a hybrid in operation from the start, we most likely would not be able to use the Cylons' information. But so far, we have not found evidence that the one we found had been in operation for more than a few months." Weston wanted to pull every bit or byte of Cylon data that they could. Something was off about this base. He could feel it in his bones. He had no idea what it was, he only knew something was off.

Lee Adama touched a button one side of the screen to let everyone on the video teleconference know that he wanted to speak. After a few seconds of dead air he started to talk. "The information could be useful. But we need to make sure that it does not have any virus or something like the logic bomb we've seen them use, staying low key while slowly compromising vital systems. I have no other issues with the idea. Even if it turns out to not be usable, except as parts that can be repurposed or melted down even, I say take the time and get it all."

Captain Kelly hit his button, then after also waiting for a few seconds started to talk. "They can put it in a standalone system in my Hold Number One. That would keep it separated from any other critical systems that are Colonial made. I have power outlets that are pretty flexible with output energy already mounted in that hold."

Laura Roslin on Colonial One popped into focus next and she did not wait before speaking. "That seems doable to me. Major Weston. Please pass along the okay, but be careful. Cylons are very good at working within the limits of their hardware and firmware. My question is, how long do we think we have before the Cylons come back, and can the job be done in time?"

Bill Adama hit the button on his console so that he could be seen. This was his area, since he was the fleet commander. "We need to be out of here in less than seventy-two hours. I would like to be on the way again in forty-eight, but seventy-two hours is right at the edge of what I'm comfortable with given the current information we have on hand. What else have you found out about the base, Major Weston? How much refined fuel do they have on hand? And have you found anything else that might be interesting?" Bill was hoping for the stars, but was ready to be let down with the reply to his open-ended question.

Major Weston already had a list of questions that he thought most likely to be raised for him to answer and had already had done the legwork to find answers for most of them even before the meeting started. So he gave the numbers for both refined and unprocessed tylium they had found so far.

"Now these are rough numbers. They could be either higher or lower than what we are tracking now." The numbers, Mike Weston knew, was a surprise to everyone in orbit over the dwarf planet. Even if the numbers were twenty percent lower in the end, they were still very impressive numbers.

Colonel Tigh, who had been sitting beside the Admiral, blurted out his reaction and it was carried over the open speaker. "You have got to be frakking kidding me. That's enough refined fuel to supply the whole Colonial Fleet for months! They have got to have read the numbers wrong or are frakking drunk on duty." He was the only one to have been able to have words coming out of his mouth, but that did not mean the others had not thought the same thing. They just might have used more polite words to describe what they were thinking.

Bill Adama turned a little pale at hearing the numbers, but he was quick off the mark. And his right hand hit the little red button again to put his face on the other screens. He knew that Saul's words had already gone out, and part of him was just as surprised.

"I want every ship topped off immediately, and then I want the tankers to pull every drop of fuel off of that rock right the frak now." Bill tapped his desk right index finger to emphasize his point.

Then Bill stopped talking in mid stride, and looked at his screen. Major Weston had a look on his face that gave the older Adama the vibe that the other man had something else he wanted to drop on the group. Adama let five heartbeats pass before he stepped into the door that he had seen open.

"Major Weston sorry for interrupting. We just need that fuel. I take it that you have found something else you wanted to tell us about?"

Major Weston gave a sly smile to the group through the small camera. He knew that the older Adama was good at reading people, but two could play this game. "Yes I do, and it's something that I think we need to be thinking about as well as talk about. We found out why there were so many Heavy Raiders compared to the regular Raiders on the outpost. It's now confirmed that the other building... was a small Heavy Raider Production facility. It's small compared to what we've been briefed on by our information sources. But the one they added to this outpost could turn out up to three complete Heavy Raiders every day. What they had been building so far was from the limited materials they were pulling out of the planet as waste from the fuel mining operation. I am told that this number is what they could do in full production mode."

Lee Adama was quick with a question, and his younger face showed to the others. "Are you saying that they could build complete and operational Heavy Raiders? I mean from raw ore to fully capable fighting machine? That would include jump engines, and new controller AI with downloads, right?" Lee's eyes were beaming with delight and more than a few of what most would call half-baked ideas.

"Yes. Or more to the point, that is what we think it could do." Major Weston replied while trying to keep his face from showing the smile that was threatening to come out. He had asked the same question to the mixed group of helping human form Cylons and his people. That is when they told him about the production site in one of the outer buildings on the base. His mind had also fluttered at what that might mean for the humans traveling through space.

Mike was having as much enjoyment looking at those shocked faces as he was sure his people had seeing the same look on his face less than an hour ago. Bill and Saul along with a few others had thought that this might be the case. Having someone prove that your line of thinking was right did not lessen the shock.

Lee was thinking it, but it was his father that said it first. "We definitely can use that production line. If we can pull it out in a way that we can repair or reassemble it later, that would give us a huge leg up when in rebuilding our civilization we find Earth." The tone was one that was mixed with wonder and a good bit of anticipation.

Bill and Lee were thinking that the Mercury class battlestar had a small Viper production line. Now if they had a similar production line for something to fill the niche that the Heavy Raiders and Raptors filled, that would give them a low manpower option in the power projection arena right from the start. It was a lot of ifs, and they would not know if the idea worked for a long time, they just did not have the room to set up a production facility for something like that within the fleet. They would have to wait until they found some place nice, safe, quiet, and far from the Cylons.

Laura spoke next. The ability to make complete replacement jump engines had come up already during many meetings over the last few months as the whole fleet ran as fast as they could from the nebula. So far, they had been able to produce the needed spare parts by hand building them. All to keep of their limited supply of Raptors in flying condition. However it was only going to be a matter of time before something broke beyond their ability to do so. The trick in making the smallest of jump engines were the specialized tools and rigs. The tools needed to make the extremely fragile micro-parts which were just not needed on a much larger interstellar ship's engine.

"How long would it take to take the production line down, at least in a semi-controlled manner? And find a place to put it in our little fleet?" Laura spoke in a flat tone. One that gave a hint that she already might know the answer to this question.

That was the six hundred pound gorilla in the room, and everyone was quiet again for almost a solid minute. Now that it had been brought up, Major Weston had been trying to figure out that exact same thing for over half an hour. And he was no closer now to figuring it out than when he first got the news. He was not a spaceman or even an expert in shipping stuff from place to place in space. There were two of those in the fleet, so maybe they could figure it out.

"I have no idea." Mike spoke in the same flat tone Roslin had used.

Bill Adama was thinking, but he was aware that no one else was talking. And it was starting to wear after long seconds of dead air. He let out a long breath. It would seem that everyone was looking to him to come up with the answer to this little problem.

"Too long, and I think it would take up too much space to pack it all in. We would have to make some hard decisions. Now... maybe..." He stopped talking as something started itching in the back of his brain. It was the start of an idea, but would it work? Would it be worth it? Those were the thousand cubit questions.

"Maybe what, Bill?" Laura was used to Bill dropping a line of thought, and not finishing a statement in private. It had happened before when they were working on a problem that had been pushed all the way to their level, but they were not alone now. In the presence of this group, it was not normal for him to do something like that and she knew it.

That comment snapped Bill back into focus, and back into the meeting. He was a little embarrassed, but not that much. Not that the rest of the people in the small little meeting could tell from his face, at least. He did feel the need to explain where his mind had just gone.

"I will need to talk with Mr. Tyrol to see if it it's doable or not, but what if we just take the tools and machines we need to make the jump engines and gravity plates, and leave most of the rest behind? We don't really need the equipment to make the pilot, engines, or the Heavy Raiders' hull themselves. Captain Kelly's people have better armor technology and the Pegasus can make more of the small high output engines already."

Bill held up his hand in a defensive gesture. "I don't know if it's possible, but if it is, I will put all the people we can spare onto that job. Let's get what we came for, and anything else we can strip off of the base for now. I just need to see what is doable with what manpower and space we have. I think Kelly said something a while ago that fits. A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush. We get what we can, then leave what we can't."

* * *

The vote was taken and the plans made. In less than seventy-two hours the fleet would be moving again. The few but extremely important fuel tankers were doing a complex dance within ten minutes after the meeting was over. The fleet's fuel tankers worked in the way that was the safest for their cargo.

Since the advent of the new Cylon war, it had been decided early on that no one tanker would have significantly more of the remaining fuel for the Rag Tag Fleet than the others. This was so that in case a ship was lost to enemy action, accident or mysterious causes, the loss would not have a disproportionate effect on the rest of the surviving fleet of Colonial ships. It was a very coldblooded way to look at things, but then again, survival sometimes forces a person or persons to make a few very coldblooded and calculated decisions.

The first tanker crossloaded as much of the volatile fuel it was carrying onto the other two tankers as it could. As much fuel as each ship could hold was transferred, without any margin for safety. This was done while the first tanker was making its way to lightly land at the now Colonial controlled base. There she would start to fill her massive tanks of the stored fuel the Cylons had been so kind as to leave behind.

While the single tanker was landing on the planet. The other two tankers went about filling every ship in the fleet to full capacity with the transferred fuel. Each one refueled two civilian ships at a time. If they had been able to plan better, each of the tankers could have filled more ships than that. It was a little on the dangerous side, and for years the pattern in the fleet had been for only one ship to take in fuel at a time. It was just to be on the safe side. Today was the first day the practice had proven to be an issue. That had a tactical impact on the rest of the fleet and its fleet commander.

In the few hours it took to fill the first tanker to capacity with the one time Cylon owned fuel, the other two tankers remaining in orbit offloaded almost half their fuel to other ships in the fleet. So the second tanker cross loaded to the third tanker with its high speed and super high volume connection. Before the first tanker had cleared the thin atmosphere of the dwarf planet, tanker two was on its way to the planet's surface to fill its massive and now empty storage tanks with the captured Cylon fuel.

The first tanker rejoined the last tanker in high orbit over the planetoid, and kept making the rounds of the Rag Tag Fleet filling ships as fast as they could. By the time the second tanker had filled its massive tanks to capacity and returned to orbit, the only ships in the whole fleet that needed fuel were the two massive warships. They were the two largest ships in the human fleet, and their fuel bunkers almost as large as the main tanks that the three tankers were built with.

While the third tanker made its way down the shallow gravity well of the planetoid, it was joined by the two tylium refining ships that Admiral Adama had under his control. They would be going to a different part of the base. Their objective was the raw ore, which the Cylons had already been kind enough to mine from the small planet and stockpile in handy loading bunkers. They just had not yet been able to process the ore into fuel that was usable by spaceships.

The Cylons had stockpiled enough ore to fill both ships with maybe even a few hundred tons left over. It was an impressive amount of ore to have mined, and just leave sitting around in storage some place. It would have taken a few days to fill the refining ships. That is if those two ships had to pull the ore out of the ground by themselves.

So waste not, want not, as the old saying goes. The real windfall for the humans was that the original plan had only been to stay in this system to fill the refining ships. They would have refined what they pulled from the planet, but only after they had left this system. Now they would have full fuel tanks for all of the ships, full fuel tankers, and full refining ships all in a short length of time and a lot less effort.

The three ships returned to orbit within an hour of each other. The refining ships would not start working on the dangerous process of refining the ore just yet. In one of the few times in years, the two ships would be taking on fuel from the tankers instead of making their own.

The raw ore was going to be the rainy day fund for the Admiral and what was left of the Colonial people. Any empty volume left in any of the fuel tanks that remained in the fleet could be refilled by the smaller, but much faster cargo shuttles before they left this system. That was the plan as it had been rewritten on the third try. Bill was betting that it was going to have to be rewritten a few more times before they left this systems.

Each of the massive battlestars still had three quarters of a full load in their fuel tanks when the day started. The ships were designed to not only work for a long time without support, but they also had to support the fleet's Vipers and Raptors. They also might have to help out any escorting small warships with their own fuel needs. That is, if tanker support could not keep up with fleet operations.

In other words each could carry a massive load of fuel inside their thickly armored hulls. Not as much as one of the fuel tankers supplying this small fleet, but the Mercury class battlestar came right after the smallest tanker the Rag Tag fleet had left in capacity.

Between the two battlestars that remained under the human race's control, they put a huge dent in one of the three tankers' cargo capacity. So much so that after crossloading again with the rest of the tankers, the smallest of the tankers had to make a second trip planetside to top off its own massive tanks one last time.

All of the ships in orbit were going to burn through more fuel than they usually did in normal operation for the short term. That was because the Admiral had ordered all of the ships to keep their jump engines spun up in case the Cylons returned unannounced.

Lee, Saul, and half a dozen other ship commanders and maintenance chiefs did not like this idea. This would make those jump drives accumulate extra wear and tear. This would go down as the fastest fleet top off they or anyone else had ever seen. Even if they had been back in their home star systems.

While the tankers and refineries were doing their loading and crossloading, the other ground mission was headed up by Chief Tyrol, John Keller, and Joseph Vo. They were leading teams of Colonials, Earthers, and loyal Cylons as they rummaged through the base almost at a run. There would be plenty of time to sleep after they had left this system.

They collected the tools and machines needed to make the jump drives that could make a eighty ton Cylon Heavy Raider jump dozens of light years in a single bound, and gravity plates that allowed them to defy the laws of physics. As the equipment and tools were pulled out of the construction facility, they were marked and logged. The boxes were then loaded into Raptors or other small shuttle craft, to be brought back up to the fleet. These boxes were not the only things to be packed up from the ground base.

Besides the Cylon mainframe and manufacturing equipment, the invaders were also looking for anything else that might be useful to the fleet. One of the things at the top of the list of things to pick up was as much of the bio-repair substance as could be found. They had already proven so helpful on the flagship. They did not know when they might need to do battle damage repair, or other major work without access to a repair slip of any kind. As the important items were collected, the hard part had been effectively marking them in a central area before loading them onto the cargo shuttles.

After the important items were loaded and packed down on the ships of the fleet. There was a bit of extra room. The wrecked Centurions and human forms were loaded on the shuttles. The last two cargo shuttle runs back to the fleet were filled with nothing but refined metal salvaged from the base.

The Earthers could use the metal to make armor plate at the very least, or the other manufacturing ships could use it. By this time the other salvage ships had collected all of the space borne debris and had it packed. In some cases they had even welded some of the more complete wreckage onto the outer hulls of nearby civilian ships.

The small Cylon outpost did not have a production line for any missiles. They were handmade, one at a time, in some unknown shop. Or they had been shipped in on one of the rare cargo supply runs. There was a stock of missiles on the Cylon base, but all of them had been blown up by the Earth Vipers' attacking runs, or used by the defending Cylon small craft.

That had been a letdown for most of the people running around the Cylon base. The idea of using Cylon missiles to kill other Cylon Raiders or Heavy Raiders was the subject of many a dream or wishful thought in the fleet's bars.

That did not mean that no Cylon weapons were found. The other ammo dumps were raided to top off all of the KEW bunkers around the fleet, and replace the little the Battlestar Galactica had used to fight off the attacking Raiders. Human form bodies and Centurion, Raider, and Heavy Raider hulls were also set aside.

The idea was that the biomass was going to be used across the fleet to replace losses in the hydroponics and other growing areas. No matter how high tech, or how hard the workers tried, hydroponics was not one hundred percent effective.

* * *

Forty nine hours and thirty seven minutes after the first Cylon jumped out during the battle between them and the Galactica, everything was set. All of the ships had full to overfull cargo and storage areas. The ships were not as overloaded as, say, when they left the nebula, but they were very close. When each ship reported back to the flagship that they were both full and safe to leave, its craggy faced master issued his orders.

All of the Colonial ships moved away from the planetoid. All but one larger ship. As the human ships moved away, they looked a lot different from when they popped into this system. Bits of 'stuff' attached to almost all of the ships made a few of them look like they had some kind of disease. Each bump was something that was needed, even if their masters and support staff were not that happy about how it made their commands look. It was almost a state of holy writ that a ship's captain loved his ship. And it did not matter if it was a sewage scow or the newest warship. It would always have looked sexy to its commander's eyes.

No one knew what would happen next, and a massive betting pool had been set up around the fleet. That was because no one had ever been dumb enough, or maybe crazy enough was a better term, to try something like what was about to be done next. So the fleet moved a good distance away from the planetoid while a lone warship stayed close by the cold and lifeless world.

The warship was not moving that fast. At least compared to the normal speed that a space borne object traveled. But it was moving at a good clip from what people could reference. The great warship would need that speed later, to clear any danger that might turn up over the next few hours.

Lee Adama looked at his wife, Dee, who was across the massive warship's CIC from him. They made eye contact, and Lee held it for a long few seconds before giving a set of orders that still made him a little nervous.

"Dee, please roll us to port one hundred ten degrees." Lee used his command voice so that it would carry across the command center.

In a louder voice, Lee called out to another station behind him. "Open Missile Tube Eighteen, and prepare the ship for Caprica Three." It was a short order to be given, but it had a very deep meaning. All throughout the ship, things started to happen, as hands and people moved as soon as the orders hit the public address system. They did not have to be told that the eyes of the whole fleet were upon them.

The great Mercury class battlestar, the last of her class, started to roll over until she was upside down. The maneuver was not felt by the Battlestar's crew because 'down' did not change from their point of view within the ship. Anyone on the planet's surface on the other hand, and who happened to be looking up into space right about then would see the dorsal or top side of the massive warship coming around to face towards the planet's surface.

As the ship was rotating, one of the top mounted missile tubes' thick armored hatches slid open with a smooth and almost evil grace. It looked a like a dark cave had been opened for the first time to enjoy the glow of the planet below it. In a flash, the mechanical launch system physically threw a device out of the dark cave's opening and into the full light of day. It went into the bright light reflected by the close planetoid as a blur of gunmetal silver gray.

The device was almost twice as long as it was around. But somehow it still looked somewhat stubby to any viewer as it fell towards the planet's surface. Internal systems on the device knew two things. It knew where its mother ship was, and where the target it had been aimed at was located on the slowly turning orbital body below it. At a preset distance from the target, a quadruple set of wire waffle like wings and fins deployed from the back of the device. This would help the falling device make any fine adjustments that might be needed as it closed in on its target. It was just acting like the mindless machine it was.

What the device did not know was that its mothership was now putting on every bit of speed its massive engines could give it without going critical. It was trying to get as far from what was about to happen as it physically could and still not overly damage its bank of high output engines. The massive battlestar simply did not want to be near in case the computer models were on the conservative side of what was going to happen. Lee Adama was not going to take any chances that his ship might receive any damage as a result of his actions or orders.

A sensor in the falling Cylon made device told it that it had hit a certain point and all was working as designed. At this point the sensor activated a section of its coded orders and panels around the circular hull came off in the slip stream caused by the falling weapon, followed shortly by the nose cone itself. It was now showing sixteen missiles arranged in two concentric rings, each with bright, evil red lights on their tips turning on. The weapon's outermost ring of eight missiles fell away from the still falling device and in a smoky flash sped away each to its own destination. They were followed by the remaining eight falling away and splitting up as well.

Each of the small missile like devices was going off in its own direction, as fast as its booster motor could push it. One device flew towards the now empty base, which was its primary target. The other fifteen missiles went to the largest tylium ore deposits the Colonial mining ships could find on this side of the planet and that met certain other limited parameters. Those targets had been selected primarily to try to deny them to the Cylons.

The missile that had been aimed at the outpost hit and detonated first among the sixteen. The aim point for this weapon had been selected with care. It was hoped that the aim point would be the place to cause the most amount of damage that the weapon could possibly cause. That was easier said than done. You could not just point on the ground and say, _hit this point_.

It was a nuclear weapon, so it was not that hard of a target selection. Close counts when talking about weapons like that. Still they are not what might be called magic wands. The harder or stronger the target, the closer it had to be, even when talking about such large yields. Bunkers were hard to make go boom, which was why they were called bunkers after all. Even with the nuclear weapon, the Cylon ground base had a foot print that covered over a dozen square kilometers on and under the planet's surface.

The strike was not aimed at the massive amount of stored refined precursor at the edge of the base. It had been worked out in a surprising move that the Cylon built missile should hit a little off of dead center of the Cylon outpost. It was moving at well over four times the speed of local sound when the guidance system told it that it was almost over the topmost part of the damaged base. In what was rated as a tactical nuclear weapon, it let science do its work when the trigger activated.

When the weapon was only about three meters above the roof of the complex, a flash of light and radiation heralded the dark mushroom cloud rising into the thin air of the planetoid over the former Cylon base. Despite what the Cylons had originally designed this system for, of the warheads to be used today only this one still retained its nuclear warhead. Radiation tended to render Tylium ore inert after all, and that would defeat the purpose of today's exercise. This one did not have to worry so much about that little detail because the massive silos carrying the precursor were shielded. For those, the Colonials had a different contingency in place.

As the missile targeted at the Cylon base did its work, a small device placed by one of the last humans on the planet felt the shock wave moving through the ground. The device was simple and it just fell over onto the metal corridor as the ground rocked underneath its narrow base. This set off a second explosive charge set on one of the main depots of the highly volatile refined precursor buried deep in the base. It did not take long for the very explosive substance to consume itself in waves of fire and destruction of its own making. While it did this little event, it was adding to the damage being done to the outpost.

All across the little planet's surface facing the battlestar, more detonations started popping up like some kind of malignant tumor as the ground bursting weapons released dozens of tons of energy into the targeted ore veins. As a rule of thumb raw tylium ore tended to have impurities that the refining process eventually removed. The Colonials had found that by some strange coincidence, this planetoid's tylium deposits were laced with a mineral that under the extreme heat and pressure of an explosion released several gases. In particular, Oxygen.

Tylium does not like Oxygen. The latter destabilizes the former. As the shock wave propagated through the ground, the destabilized tylium ores expressed their collective displeasure. With each fireball the small Cylon made weapons caused, more and more of the ore veins found themselves exposed to destabilizing Oxygen. This created an effect that was way out of proportion to the explosive yields used. The ores took the released energy from the detonating weapons like a sponge to water and the now volatile ores devoured themselves. All of this simply due to the little push that the Cylon weapons had provided.

The release of energy caused more shock waves to rattle the little planet, and this caused more and more of the desired reactions to occur. Each explosion occurred further and further away from the initial detonations that had started this little show of hell. The little planet could not contain the building energy of destruction, and it started to come apart. First at the largest fault lines, then the smaller ones started to also crack open under the still growing assault.

This event was picked up on the systems of the rapidly retreating warship, the planet eating itself in a wave of fire. The crew of the great warship had been watching, more out of boredom at first. That quickly changed as the great lines of fire started to spread from the first detonation. When Lee thought that they were almost out of time, he gave an order he had not expected to need to.

The Battlestar Pegasus flashed away from the danger. As its powerful jump drive activated, the massive warship was gone in a wave of its own energy release, more controlled and directed than those wracking the planet. The whole planet could now not even be classified as a dwarf planet. It had been irrevocably changed by the humans and the Cylon weapon used on it.

* * *

With the mission done, the rest of the fleet started to flash away from this system that was known to the Cylons. The last ship to leave was the flagship of the Rag Tag Fleet. The commander of the old girl wanted to get as much information as he could from the event that had just happened. It was not every day that someone not only saw the destruction of such a large space body, but was the actual cause of its destruction in the first place. Even if it had not been planned for, it still was something that needed to be studied.

As the CIC of the flagship watched a live feed from a large visible and infrared light telescope, they could see what they had done. The fireball had already started to thin out as the oxygen and other oxidizers that made the fireball visible were used up by the orgy of destruction they had been pushed into. Massive chunks of the once united planet could be seen by the naked eye on the screen moving in different directions. Some had huge jets of flame still visible acting like city block sized rocket motors on a few of those chunks of rock and ice.

Soon the only things left of the planetoid would be a group of closely orbiting bits of junk that were of various sizes. They might be still be useful to the Cylons, but not nearly as useful as they had been a few minutes before the first Cylon made bomb detonated. Not after it had been delivered from the Cylon made orbital bombardment weapon.

Bill Adama was looking at one of the screens with Colonel Tigh and Mr. Gaeta close at hand. Just loud enough to be heard by both men, he let something slip from his lips that had been in his mind. He been thinking about that word ever since that meeting. In it they had talked about all of the ways they had to remove this Cylon base from being a risk to them now, in the near future, or even into the far future.

"Scorched Earth, indeed."

Bill was shaking his head as his mind came to grips with what he was seeing. Before now, he could not even imagine something on this level of destruction. Even the loss of twenty billion of his people had not prepared him to see what had just happened. That did not mean that he was not happy to see the images playing out before him and his crew. It was only that he was not prepared mentally to see them.

Bill had read up on the term. It had been in some of the information the Rifts Earth people had on hand on military operations. He was familiar with the concept. The First Cylon War had more than once seen the Cylons resorting to it in their attempts to deny the Colonial Fleet some resource or another. He hated having to destroy the hard to find ore, but he also did not want to let the Cylons use it against what was left of his people in the near future. So he had okayed the strike using one of the Cylon bombardment weapons. Most of his staff and arm chair admirals had believed that it would just blow a few holes in the ground. He was on the fence himself about the idea. No matter what, he had not expected to see the spectacular break up of a small planet after the use of only one of those types of weapons.

It struck a cord with many of the people who knew what was happening. That they were going to use a Cylon weapon to destroy a Cylon base. Bill was not smiling as he watched the data flow into the CIC. He looked at it as a job that had to be done, and that was it. Now they had to make sure that the weapon had covered their tracks as intended.

The Colonial scanning systems and DRADIS were already picking up the telltale signs and signatures hidden within the debris field and its still expanding radiation cloud. They all seemed to be saying that it had been a Cylon weapon that had been used to end this small world's existence. Bill was hoping that it would confuse and delay any Cylon response. Or maybe even delay the rebuilding efforts in the whole area of the local star cluster.

Saul looked at his commander at hearing the softly spoken words. "Well Bill, they did say it might come apart at the seams if we used all of the warheads in the frakking weapons. I will say that I did not believe that it could happen even when they said it a second time. That is, until right frakking now. I just thought that the radiation would contaminate most of the nearby ore bodies on the frakking thing." He was pointing the screen that was still displaying the images of the onetime planet.

Saul gave an evil snicker, which had an odd hissing sound added at the end before he finished his line of thought. "That should make it harder for those frakkers to catch back up to us. Not without a base or fuel supply close by. I bet they will have to spend months looking around to find a replacement fuel mine. I bet that mess over there does not have enough good ore, to make a good sized fart out of a thruster pod."

Bill only nodded to his oldest friend, and made a few notes. Then he turned to make eye contact, with who was next on his list. "Mr. Gaeta, let's go back to the path, if you please. You may give the order to jump after one more scan of the neighborhood. Have all of the data collected and put into one area for anyone who wants to see and study it."

All of the data that was being recorded by the battlestars, attached Earther ships, and some of the special devices rigged around a few of the other ships. All of the data was going to be collected and stored. This was too good of a unique opportunity not to keep the data for later use or maybe a future teaching opportunity. They had plenty of time to look at it and use whatever they might find on the upcoming trip.

Mr. Gaeta still had most of his attention fixed on the information coming into his station, but he knew his job. He had been one of those who thought that they would only blow a few holes in the planet's surface. At worst he thought that the new holes would only show the Cylons where all of the nearest ore veins were located at. Seeing a small planet blow itself apart, that took him a few seconds to get his feet back under him. He made another note that maybe the Old Man still had a few tricks up his sleeve. And that he had not lost his touch as both a battlestar commander and as a Fleet Commander.

"Yes sir. Clock is set for one minute twenty seconds. Full power systems scanning will be done in forty seconds or less."

Felix turned and went back to his station for the interstellar jump of the old warship. The location they were going to was where the other battlestar and the most of the rest of the fleet was waiting on the old battlestar and fleet Flagship to rejoin them. The Command staff had not been sitting around spinning on their thumbs. They had planned a long set of crazy quilt jumps designed to throw off any trailing cylons.

This had proven successful on the run from their burned out planets the last time. After over forty jumps to confuse any trailers, or other hunters, they would be able to go back to the rough course. The one they had worked out thanks to the stellar data from the Arrow of Apollo, and the data that the Earthers had been able to chip in with.

* * *

"Settle down, people!" Captain Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace called the small meeting to order. "We've already had a long past couple of days. Let's not make this longer than absolutely necessary."

The battle to end the occupation of New Caprica had given her, same as many other Colonials, her very first glimpse into Earther energy weapon and high damage resistant materials technology. It had seemed like magic at the time.

Not any more. After months of providing hand built replacement parts for the Earther fabrication machines, the Colonial Fleet now knew enough to put up a small one of their own. Once the first test runs had proven successful and comparable to the Earthers' own output, it did not take long for the higher ups to decide how best to use this new capability. The Fleet had a vested interest in extending the life expectancy of its limited pool of pilots and soldiers.

Plate armor inserts for the Marines' tactical body armor and newly designed helmets with protective face masks had only been the first step. This small gathering of about a dozen pilots, marines and damage control personnel was the next. By producing the high damage resistance material as thin filaments, they could be woven into a fabric, forming a mesh that made it that much more durable. The composite mix had to be tweaked to make it ductile and flexible enough while still retaining most of its tensile strength, but a triple weave of the resulting cloth was able to stop small arms fire cold.

"It chafes. Anybody else gonna have burns in embarrassing places?" Margaret 'Racetrack' Edmondson nodded sheepishly in agreement, but Brendan 'Hotdog' Costanza and Hamish 'Skulls' McCall did not. Starbuck herself, along with the other three pilots, had worn flight suits made of the new material. Aside from the already ridiculously durable fabric, the suits were further reinforced with thin and small plates and padding sewn between the underlayers. Over it their familiar flak vests had also been modified with newly produced armor plates, providing two thirds the protection of the marines' own body armor. All together the protection was still less than half that of the ubiquitous Plastic Man the Earthers used, but it was a quantum leap in what was available to the Colonial Fleet.

"Maybe, it's just an issue for the smaller sizes?" Hotdog suggested. "Myself, my problem is this plate over here," he pointed at the side of his rib cage, "makes it hard to even sit in the cockpit and work the joystick."

Combat maneuvers on Vipers required fine manipulation. If the armor plates were getting in the way, it could be a problem.

"So do you want it removed or just replaced with a thinner armor plate?" Lieutenant Junior Grade Terry Burrell was one of the rare Colonial marine officers currently in the Fleet. He himself had worn a similar single piece jumpsuit, essentially the flight suit minus the environmental seals, under his modified armored vest during the battle with the Cylon boarding parties.

When he and his men stormed the Cylon Base, he had worn yet another prototype and the third under discussion today. One intended to take the place of the standard space suit, heavier and bulkier by far than either flight suit or jumpsuit. By itself it afforded almost half the protective capability of the Plastic Man. He had worn a modified armored vest over it, the largest size available, boosting protection by almost a third over what the space suit alone provided. He had been right behind the Chipwell Challengers, and just ahead of the marines testing a combination of the prototype flight suits and marine armored vests.

The pilots looked at each other as they considered the marine officer's question. Eventually though, they silently agreed that the fabric of the flight suit itself already provided excellent protection. Coupled with the now more durable flak vests, the added protection was simply not worth the potential loss of fine control.

"Removed." Starbuck voiced the pilots' combined sentiment. "How did the helmets work out?"

One of the main issues plaguing this endeavor was that both the flight suit and space suit used helmets with large transparent face plates. That was a major vulnerability they simply had no choice but to work with because both pilots and damage control personnel needed the unobstructed visibility. The current stopgap was to triple the thickness by adding more layers, and sandwiching the high damage resistance mesh between the layers. It gave the face plates the appearance of being tinted.

"Worked great. Even the ones for the flight suits," Burrell replied. "In fact they worked somewhat better, because the curved surface made it easier for the bullets to bounce off. There were scratches, even pockmarks where the bullets impacted, but absolutely no breaches."

"We could probably do the same with ours, Sir. We don't have to sit in cramped cockpits, but with the vests, they're just not comfortable." One of the marines chimed in, bringing the discussion back to the suits themselves.

"Could we have some of that plating around the collar instead? And make it higher? I thought my heart would stop when I felt something nick around mine." Another marine volunteered. The jumpsuits had high collars fastened with a tab that went around the throat. Obviously this was not enough for this particular marine's peace of mind.

Ultimately their feedback would be kicked back to the fabrication shop, which would then send out the next batch of prototypes incorporating their suggestions. Once the designs were finalized and in production, the plan was to move on to the final phase.

While the flight suit for pilots and space suit for damage control and general use were ends in of themselves, the research and development team was far from done. Already on the drawing boards were plans for a more comprehensive body armor with armored plates actually covering the arms and legs instead of just vest inserts. It would also include an armored face plate, gloves and boots, even a frakking codpiece.

Eventually, the research and development team hoped to use the flight suit as the base for a full environmental body armor not unlike the Bushman Trooper or Crusader the Earthers used. It would incorporate a new design of helmet that would not have the vulnerability of a large transparent face plate. Even now, there was a small contest going around the Fleet for concept art detailing how the new helmet and armor would look like.

All that was for the future, though. As exciting as all these developments made it to be a marine right now, they still had a ways to go. These were just small steps on a very long road ahead. Now if only the eggheads could find a way for the Fleet to make its own laser rifles.

* * *

It was only a handful of weeks after the old Battlestar had left this out of the beaten path system that the Cylons showed back up. They were responding to a faint report that this system had been the target of some kind of pirate attack. What the humans had not known was that this base had been close enough to another unoccupied outpost that had a new type of long rang communication device. It was an application of the same technology that made downloading possible.

In the future the communication chain would have connected this outpost to the rest of the Cylon Empire. Even as remote as this outpost's location was. The humans and Cylons that had been sent dirtside would not have known what to look for when they ransacked the base.

Almost a dozen Cylon basestars had been gathered from different parts of the local area to find out what happened. All they found was a destroyed base, and what was left of the small planet it had been based on. The Number One in charge of the fleet was stunned. He had been the closest, and was already checking out a report of strange energy readings. The reports of the pseudo-Vipers with energy weapons, and the accompanying strange pseudo-battlestar had been met with a lot of skepticism at the higher levels of Cylon command at first. But an attack on the only refueling base in the area had to be investigated.

Only two fully operational Heavy Raiders had been able to physically report the attack on the Imperial base. All of the raw data was viewed as just a strange and possible computer glitch propagating through their sub-systems. Now, seeing what now remained of the planetoid, the One was not sure what to think. First off, he immediately ordered a full squadron of Raiders and Heavy Raiders to jump to the emergency locations to see if there were any other survivors. As soon as those craft had left the Basestar's bays, he focused on what to do next.

He was only unmoving for maybe a minute after the last small craft had left the system. Next he gave orders for the group to get closer to the orbiting rocks that were still close enough together to be in the same-ish orbit as the dwarf planet had been in. Maybe in time, they might rejoin together again and form another small round ball of rock, but it would be a long time in the future if at all. If this did happen, it would be even smaller than it had been before it had a close encounter with a Cylon multi-stage city killing weapon.

The Number One pushed his hands deeper into the datastream out of habit. He looked at what remained of the planet one more time. _"I want to know what happened here."_ This was the simple command that he gave to the rest of the fleet through the datastream. The commanders in those other capital ships would now be driven to address that command.

The Number One had no idea how long it was going to take to get those answers he had just asked for. But he had the time and he did not like the two possible answers he had come up with so far on what happened to this outpost of the Cylon Empire. One idea was centered on the idea that the humans had not left this area of the expanding space controlled by the Cylon Empire after all.

The second part of Option One was that the humans had somehow been able to discover a whole new class of weapons. All while on the run from John and the rest of the Cylons. Weapons that never before had been seen or used in combat. That option fit a lot of pieces that the Cylons had but not all of them, and it opened up a lot more questions. Questions that this Number One did not want to think about.

Or there was the second possible explanation for what happened to this out of the way area. Perhaps this was done by a different group all together, operating in this area of space. A group that had highly advanced weapons, and were now enemies of the empire. The One in command did not like to think about the idea of someone out there beyond Cylon known space. One that was somehow stronger and more advanced than the Cylons.

He just did not know how to explain the evidence of Cylon made high yield weapons, over a dozen of them, being used. One, now that could be explained any number of different ways. There was very little doubt about the use of a Cylon made nuclear weapon, though. The hybrid had even identified it as having been made at Cylon Heavy Weapons Plant Number Seven between five and seven years ago. Planet Number Seven was only the main nuclear weapons production facility until it was taken out by rebel Cylons. It was hard to contest that little detail. It just did not help the Ones in understanding why and the how it had happened.

The fleet of basestars stayed in this system for weeks and weeks. They worked every minute they were there trying to find out what had happened to their base. In the end, it was the use of the Cylon bombardment system that they focused on. They had only found this out because a Raider had run into what turned out to be the nose cover of one such weapon. That one bit of evidence was what convinced the commander of the Imperial Fleet, about what had happened to the outpost. The Imperial Cylon Fleet Commander now knew without a doubt what happened to this support base. There was only one group that the Cylon Empire knew had access to one of those limited use types of weapons.

The evidence, to him, showed that this system had been attacked by a group of rebel Cylons. Maybe they even had support from the Guardians faction of Cylons that went missing not long after the first war ended. This mixed group must have found an old battlestar, and salvaged and modified it with more Colonial base material. Now they were using it along with some kind of computer attack to confuse the dumb Heavy Raiders and other supporting systems. All into believing they had been attacked by a new class of weapons.

The only weapons that they had physical evidence of in this system were Cylon missiles, fragmentation devices, and some KEW shells that might have been Colonial or Cylon made, and a Cylon nuclear weapon. It was known that information about this outpost had been kept very close. The information had only been available to certain lines of human forms. Even then it had been opened to those other lines only over the last year.

So with this hard won information, the fleet first sent one of the basestars by itself deeper into Imperial space to find the Hub. There it could pass along to the rest of the Imperial leadership what had been found and the Task Force commander's assessment.

The rest of the Cylon fleet, nine capital ships, closed in together and then jumped. It was as one ship that they flashed out of this system that was now useless to them with the loss of the fuel base. This fleet was now on the hunt, looking for this new group of rebel Cylons, to put them down once and for all. At least when they were found again, that is. Finding and fighting Cylon rebels was as hard to do as fighting humans.

* * *

It was a few days after the Colonial Fleet had left the Cylon system that things felt like they were just starting to settle down again in the fleet. After not seeing any Cylons for six months the general mood had been that they were safe. After finding this unknown Cylon base, let's just say that the safety and security of the last few weeks was shattered. It was now like when they had first started running, back during the first weeks after the Cylons' sneak attack.

They were making six jumps a day still. That is unless a ship reported any engine issues to the fleet flagship. This was far from the thirty-three minute intervals they had had to do when they first started running from the Cylon death machines. That did not mean that it was fun for anyone living within the fleet. It was still a grueling pace for the civilians and more importantly for the civilian made ships to maintain for any length of time. It was only a matter of time before they would have to slow down this amount of interstellar movement of between five and eleven light years each jump so many times a day.

Some thought that the only reason that the fleet had kept it up for so long was that most of the other ships' masters either feared the Admiral or respected him that much. That this amount of jumping was what he wanted to do. Others thought that it was almost the ingrained fear of a Cylon attack that drove the fleet along this path.

A path that only a dozen members of the fleet knew about in any detail. It would take some time before things settled down again to a more relaxed level like it had been before they found that Cylon fuel base. Until that time came to pass, most people in the fleet just wanted to keep their heads down, and pray to whatever power they believed in to help protect them.

It was during this first honeymoon phase after the fleet had left what everyone in the fleet had started calling the Outpost system that some of the department heads on the warships and other larger ships could start looking at items more closely. They were still fixing the battlestar's systems and collecting what remained of the Cylon junk attached to most of the civilian ships. The last bits of wreckage had been removed from all of the ships' corridors, stuffed wherever they could be just to get them out of the way and out of eyesight.

The only fully trained Colonial doctor in the fleet, Doctor Sherman Cottle, was reviewing notes in the areas of the flagship that fell under his oversight. He reviewed the last dozen pages of a report and then made a sour face. Normally he did not review this area of the daily report. And now it seemed that was a major oversight on his part, both as a doctor and a leader. Now if something was not done soon, he was going to have some major health issues spreading across first the flagship and then the rest of the fleet, and it was going to happen real soon.

Dr. Cottle put down the hard copy report, and hit a button on a communication system mounted into his working desk. As the head of all medical personnel on this ship and the rest of the fleet, he had few certain advantages that he normally would not have in the Colonial Navy. One of them was a direct line to the ship's commander if he wanted to use it. When the line went active the doctor knew who was at the other end. It was not who he had hoped it would be, but he was not that disappointed.

Between puffs on his cigarette, he was able to speak very clearly. "Mr. Gaeta. Please tell Adama that I need him to come down to my office, today." The doctor had to stop talking as he was interrupted by the younger man. "Yes it is frakking important, we have an issue. If it was not important I would have just sent him a message."

Now the Doctor was pissed, and he was not what anyone would have called user friendly on a normal day and mood. The Earthers who had had to deal with him had said that on a good day, his bedside manner was more in line with an angry alligator with a tooth ache. It went downhill from there very quickly, and not only did the whole ship know this, the whole fleet knew this little detail about the senior doctor.

Felix looked like a daggit had bit into a very soft part of his body as he pulled the ear bud from deep within his ear canal. The Doctor, and in his mind, it was with a capital T and D, very rarely called the CIC in his experience. Felix reached down and pulled up the phone receiver, and put it to his ear.

"Doctor I don't have the Admiral's schedule, but I will pass along your request for a meeting in your office. And what you have said. That is the best I can do." Felix felt some sweat beading up on his forehead. He knew something important was up, and he did not have a clue what it might be. That was bad. Very bad.

Dr. Cottle took the still smoking cigarette out of his mouth and put it in his crystal ashtray. One of the things he liked most about these Earthers was that they still had some very good smokes to trade. They also understood that there was more to life than just living. He still did not like letting one go to waste after only a few hits on the thing.

"I said for him to come to my office, not have a frakking meeting! Do I make myself frakking clear, you young daggit?!"

The doctor slammed the phone horn down into the cradle hard. He hoped that it popped the little bastard's ear drums, and that he would have to come down for him to see if he could fix it. Then he really could get his pound of flesh out of one Felix Gaeta's back side.

Felix took the handset from his ear and gave it very a perplexed look. By the time it was locked back down in its resting place, he knew that he just needed to pass along the message to the Old Man. And give it, just as it had been given to him. Sometimes Felix hated this job.

After about five minutes of waiting, he sent one of the marine guards standing at the CIC hatch to go look for the Old Man. Felix did not want to do a ship wide announcement if he did not have to. It would alert too many ears that something, and possibly something important, was up. He did not want to give the grapevine any more fuel than it normally had access to.

* * *

It was almost two hours later when the elder Adama knocked on the doctor's office door. It was the door between the patient treatment area, and the doctor's private workspace. In this case it was a heavy metal hatch in place of a light weight door like on the Mercury class. Adama did not wait for the order or offer to enter the medical office. After all. It was his ship that the office was inside the hull of. Besides, sometimes you had to let the medical personnel know who the real boss of the ship was every now and then. It was a fine line, but that also was why they did not just give out battlestar commands to just any one.

Dr. Cottle looked up snake quick when the door opened quickly after the double knock had sounded. Very few people in the whole fleet would have the guts to enter his smoke filled office without an invitation. He was about to fire off some very special handpicked words when the person fully entered enough his domain. Now that he could tell who it was that dared to trespass in the Doctor's domain, he stopped his verbal attack stillborn in his smoke scarred throat.

The medical doctor did not put down what he was working on when the ship's master and Fleet Admiral walked into his domain. He did have to acknowledge the senior officer, but that was about all that was required to do. It was the same way under both Colonial and Naval law. They did not just give out assignments to be a battlestar's senior medical officer to just any old saw bones.

"Admiral, I will be with you in a second. I have to finish up this paperwork that someone in your CIC said had to be done today." The Doctor was wanting to take care of two birds with that one stone of words.

Adama had an idea what paperwork the Doctor was talking about. After all, it was his orders to have the paperwork done today versus every two weeks as had been done before. Bill knew that it had met with some push back from the less flexible medical personnel in the fleet. Adama was pretty sure though, that this was not the reason the doctor had wanted to him down here. So he waited. He would only wait so long though, before he would show his own temper.

With only a nod to the doctor, he took an empty seat in the smoke filled office. He made mental note to again check with the Environmental Division, about increasing the ventilation of this room, if only to handle the smoke coming from this one man and keep it away from the rest of his ship. The Doctor claimed the smokes were of a good quality. To Bill, they still smelled a lot like burning conduit insulation.

True to the doctor's words, he was done very quickly, and with a flourish of a writing instrument to attach his name to the paperwork, he was done with what he had been working on. He moved the rectangle sheets of paper to his out box and dropped his heavy liquid ink pen on top of it. He then pulled out another smoke, one from a pack of smokes that the Earthers had traded to him some weeks ago. With this work done and another smoke in hand, he stood from behind his desk. With a flick of his old lighter, he waved to the ship's commander. It served to move the grey-blue cloud of smoke out of the line of sight between the two older men.

"Admiral, if you would follow me, I can show you what is about to cause a not so small problem for me and my staff. And then it's going to fall right into your lap with a frakking splat of crap that will be heard throughout the whole fleet when it lands there."

The tone the doctor used, reminded Bill of the tone that he had used several times on Starbuck. At least when she was behaving at less than what her IQ was suitable for her or allowed her to do. Bill decided quickly not to push it, just yet. He just stood there and gave the doctor one of his looks for a few seconds. Bill then used his arm to point to the door, so that he could follow the ship's doctor to whatever it was that he wanted the Admiral to see. The Doctor had worked so far above and beyond what was his line of work that Bill thought it would be okay to give him a bit of slack just this once.

As the two men walked together through the medical area, the Doctor would stop from time to time. He would check on a patient, and then make a note on a chart here and there before continuing the walk down the medical area that was the second largest and best equipped hospital in the whole fleet.

It was at the end of the main hall that they stopped and entered another area that very few people like to enter of their own free will. The door closed behind the two men and it sealed, airlock tight. It did not take but a flash, for Bill to know that they were alone in this cold room. The room was not that big, and it had a clear line of sight from end to end.

Bill went from being passive to full blown concerned as he realized what room he was standing in. "Okay Doctor. Why have you brought me to the ship's main morgue?" Bill kept this voice as level as he could, but it was taking some effort. Bill could not think of anyone off the top of his head who could be called comfortable talking in a morgue.

The Doctor did not say a word, but he also did not turn to face Adama. He just moved to one tall wall of the room, and started pulling out what looked like very large office filing cabinet drawers. They were far from what they looked like to the casual observer, though. At the Doctor's pull each drawer rolled out. Soon Bill could see body after body being put on display before him on stainless steel trays.

They were not different bodies, but copies of three different bodies in all of the moving tables. They were human form Cylons, what was left of the Cylon boarders, any way. The metal Centurions, Raiders, and Heavy Raiders had already been cleared, and either in storage for later use or already on their way to be turned into armor plate by the three Earther run armor fabricators. Then again, the limited manufactory ships also could use the base metals from those items. Bill had no idea what was going where, just that it was going to the right places.

Bill waited till the Doctor had opened all the cabinets that he wanted to, but the Doctor did not say anything until after the retractable compartments had stopped moving completely. By then Bill Adama had had enough of the silent treatment from his Medical Division head.

"Okay Doctor, is there a reason you wanted me to see some human form Cylons? I do have other things to do today." He used the same tone of voice on the Doctor that the other man had used on him a few minutes before in his private office.

The Doctor Cottle knew he had overplayed his hand right about then, so he folded. He knew that you did not push Bill Adama one inch past where he was willing to let you. If you tried, you would only come away bloody, sore, and broken. Cottle had seen it happen, even before the Cylon's little surprise attack on his people. If anything Bill Adama had gotten even harder after that. The Doctor changed his tone into one that befit the rank of the person he was talking to.

"The Cylons bodies are the problem, Admiral. These were collected from gods know where, and then they dropped them all into my frakking lap. I don't have any more room to put working cases for the rest of us. I have two bodies, that I'm working as possible murder victims on other ships. And I don't have any place that could be called controlled space to put the bodies in while I wait for tests to be run, and the cases are being working by the Fleet Police." The Doctor threw up his hand in exasperation and waved to the lines of dead bodies.

"What do you want me to do with these Cylons? That is why I wanted you to come down here. I don't know what you want done with them. It's not like someone'is going to claim them for the Last Rites or anything. I would have blown them out the airlock, but when I checked with CIC, I was told that we were not doing that any more. So Admiral, what do you want me to do with them?" Cottle had his hand placed on his hips as he waited for Bill to say something.

Bill looked at row upon row of pale and cold bodies laid out in the room in front of him. He had no idea what had happened to the human form Cylons when he had ordered them collected from the Cylon outpost and within his ship. He was trying to come up with an idea, any idea, on what to do with the Cylon bodies. His first instinct was to toss them out the airlock, just like they had done before. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

Bill was so used to thinking one way, that when he was caught flat footed by the Doctor he had reverted quickly, going back to the way they had always thought before. Back to when they were running from the Cylons the first time. He had to shake his head from side to side. They were in a totally different world now. He made another mental note to make sure this orders were made clearer in the future. They had talked about this a dozen times, but now it seemed like some had forgotten about those meetings and what had been decided in them. It was that or they did not want to think about what those orders meant in real life.

"The prison ship needs bio-matter for their bio reactor. That is where they should have been sent to in the first place. That is, after they had been stripped of anything that might have been of military use, or maybe useful for the civilian part of the fleet."

Bill pulled out a small computer, which had become almost like a leash to him over the last few months. It had taken some time, but he and a lot of the other Colonials had changed. Now they were getting more used to higher technology than they had before. One part of Bill's mind knew that they were almost at the same technology level in day to day usage as they had been when he was a kid. That was before the First Cylon War.

 _"May that never to be damned deep enough Doctor Daniel Graystone forever burn in Hades for what he unleashed on the human race!"_ Bill had to stop from wanting to smash something as that thought shot through his mind like an out of control Viper.

The Doctor was a little taken back, and was on his back foot mentally. Bill could tell that the Doctor did not agree with the plan at first look. But that was when it was first brought up by the Earthers almost a year ago. Now it made so much sense that he was surprised no one had thought of it before. Even now it was not that well accepted among the fleet all of these months after the Baltar trial. Then it was sprung on the whole fleet, flat footed or not. It had been out of the blue then, but also not that well known. Bill needed to get the Doctor to start thinking right and looking at the long term situation.

"Look, Doctor. The Earthers have it right, at least in this case. We cannot afford to waste anything right now. Even one of the top of the line close loop recycling systems will have some loss. And that loss rate only gets larger the harder they're pushed, and the longer they're forced to run that way. Having one of those high end systems was very rare around what is left of our ships. Only long range or long endurance vessels are designed to have those high end systems. The longer we can delay having to find a planet with the right type of biomaterial. The better we all will be."

Now Bill pointed an accusing finger at the long line of cold bodies laid out on the morgue tables.

"Those frakkers tried to kill us, how many times now? How many of our people have they killed? I think it's a great idea! That in death they should add some value to the survival of the rest of us. The ones that they've been trying so hard to kill for years now. I think the Lords of Kobol would toast the idea with the best Ambrosia they could find." Bill was fighting to keep from yelling and maybe alerting the rest of the medical staff what was going on.

Doctor Cottle looked deflated, and a sound leaking from his lungs added to the look. So Bill reached forward, and patted the older man softly on one shoulder. Cottle looked to have aged twenty years in the last few minutes. His old face had now somehow changed, it now had a resigned look on it. Bill decided to keep going, just to get it over with. A lot of the Colonials had closely held beliefs about how a dead body should be taken care of. It now seemed that the Doctor was one of those few people. Even if most of the Colonials still did not think of a Cylon human form as a human body, they seemed to have adopted that line of feeling.

"I will have a Raptor, or something, and crew made ready for the transfer. Put these things in body bags so that people will not have to look at their faces, then have them moved to the hangar deck. I will take care of the rest from there. I will have the old bags returned to your people as soon as we can. I'm sorry that this was left undone so long, Doctor. Thank you for bring it to my attention, I know it was not easy for you."

All of these tasks could be done by the lowest skilled of the medical people, and they were ones that did this kind of work before. Having them do it should cause the least amount of stress and questions. If too many people saw the faces of the human forms, both in the medical bay and in any of the ship's corridors, Bill knew it would cause a lot problems for him later on. He knew someone would take an image and then in some way try to use it against him.

The Doctor nodded his head in resigned agreement, and the two men left the room of the dead. They were almost as silent as the bodies they were leaving behind. In the main hall of the small hospital, the two men went their separate ways without saying another word between them.

One man had people who needed his medical skills so that they could live. There was now a masterful blend of Colonial and Earther technology helping him do that job. A lot of it he was still learning to use, much less trust it to work as advertised, but he was learning and getting better at working with them and understanding them. The other man had a ship and fleet to look after. Both men had a lot to do, and both also knew that the stress was going to kill either of them some day. Only then, would they have to face the gods for what they had done and allowed to be done in their name.

The Admiral used this unexpected free time to check on repairs taking place inside his ship. His first stops were at the defensive positions that now marked the limit of the Cylon advance. After spending a few minutes talking to the repair crews there, he moved through the locations of the major damage points that were along the way to the only remaining hangar on the old battlestar. He got to see firsthand the power of Earther weapons on Colonial metal. They had damaged even the heavy armored reinforcing plates he had ordered emplaced.

Bill had seen and read the written reports before, but seeing the damage firsthand, that was very different. And it somewhat frightened him as his mind processed what he was seeing. He made another note to himself to add another modification to the long list that he felt needed to be done to his ship. When they had the new armor plates ready, he wanted to put some of it along all the walls of all of the corridors leading to the defensive strongpoints.

He knew that it was another demand on their limited production of that much needed and much requested item. This new modification might offer some protection from future damage to the infrastructure of any ship in the fleet. Infrastructure that, in the case of his ship, was needed to keep his ship running the next time some unwanted guest landed on it. It was taking longer to repair the damage done in the battle than it had to fight the Cylons off. And it was by several orders of magnitude in length of time between the pair of events. Why did it always seem like it took longer to repair something versus break it?

Bill used one of the recently repaired infrastructure items to contact the CIC so that they could make good on his orders to the Doctor. He had not made it back to the CIC by the time the cargo shuttle had taken the first two trips to the prison ship. It had been filled to capacity with its loads of dead human form Cylons on both trips. Even these two loads did not totally empty the morgue, but it did give the medical people room to work in for the short term. It was gruesome work, but was fortunately not dirty work due to the temperature of the bodies. And the supply of No-Leak body bags. The crew complained vocally, but only until they were reminded it was not that bad of a way to make a living. Flight pay was flight pay, after all.

The truly awful job was done by the prisoners. They were the ones who had to take the dead and cooling bodies out of the bags and then put the bodies in the hand built device that had been added to their ship. It was the one that would help with the breaking down of the organic matter into very useful top soil. This would be used for growing the plants, which the rest of the fleet needed to live on.

They could only put four of the bodies at a time into the machines. So it was going to be a few days until the job was done. And the smell was just going to be unbelievable for weeks to come. Everything would be used. That included the silicon, which made up the mechanical parts of the human looking Cylons. It would be used to help the soil remain balanced, ensuring proper plant health to maximize food output.


	15. Chapter 15 Goodbye Baltar

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 15 Goodbye Baltar**

Deep Space, 1560 Days after the Fall of the Colonies, 5 years 10 months AT, 14 months after leaving the Nebula

8 Months After the Battle of the Outpost system

Baltar was in the one piece reddish prison garb that had made up his wardrobe for way too many months to satisfy him. It was not new or even newish garb, it was both stained with someone else's sweat, maybe food, and more than a few drops what looked like dried blood. It would seem that the shortage of clothing had stretched its dingy fingers into his life again. He had seen a month ago on one of this few breaks in the entertainment room the news story about how they were having to reduce the amount of synth fabric coming out of the algae vats.

They were adding more and more vat algae into the diets of those who called the ships home. Not that most of the prisoners on the Astral Queen would notice any difference. Over ninety percent of the food the prisoners ate was straight out of the vats. It was all part of the punishment for those sent to this ship for any length of time.

Baltar's outfit was patched in half a dozen places, and in fact was made up of parts from at least three completely different suits. This was easy to see because it showed in the coloration and amount of fading on the different suits. Baltar looked as close to a hobo as he ever had in his entire life.

Well, at least outside of a costume party or three he had gone to. This was the only style of clothing he was allowed to wear. At least since the day those three Earthers decreed that he should die for the long list of crimes he had committed against his people.

Today was the day he would find out if his last appeal would be approved or not. It had been a long, almost two year episode of his life. It seemed to him to be a never ending nightmare. That was why he was standing in the center of a gray interrogation room with two armed guards each standing both inside and outside the door.

He was waiting for the screen to activate and tell him what his fate might be. This waiting made Baltar even more furious, and it showed on his face like a slightly over-warm wax mask. He could not help himself, and he rocked back and forth. He had not been able to vent his emotions in some time, and the feedback loop had made him a bit on the fidgety side over the last year. It had only gotten worse over the last few weeks. He was known to vent his anger at anything that he might think was an insult directed at him.

They should have brought him to see the judges face to face. Instead, they would talk to him without having to be in the same room with him. Baltar felt his anger start to rise again. It was a disgrace, and an insult intentionally aimed at him. His train of thought was interrupted by the screen coming on in a flash of light.

Its reflecting light brightens up the room, and Baltar thinks that he can feel the temperature rise with the additional electrons now flying around. That must have been it, because now he had sweat beading upon his forehead in visible drops of moisture.

There was no reason for him to be worried. He had only done what he had been ordered to do by the Cylons. He had told himself this lie so many times that by now, even he believed it as soon as his mind brought it up. He could not wait to be released from this Hades, so that he could get back to his real job. He would tell anyone who would pass by his cell. That he was still the lawfully elected President of the Colonies of Kobol.

After the flat panel warmed up for a few seconds, the image cleared up. On the screen was a set, or panel, of four people. Each one of them had passed a law exam, some only a few months before. They were the all that were left, after a dozen people had been selected for this one keystone case. Judges were in such short supply that they had to make do with people who knew some of the law. Enough to pass a computerized law test based on the Law Board of Caprica. After all, there were less than 60,000 people left to pass judgment over in the whole fleet. Even with a growth rate now pushing two percent, you just did not need that many judges.

The Quorum had passed an amendment to the laws of the Colonials. It was too hard to coordinate and it was a waste of precious fuel just to have to keep shuttling around judges from ship to ship as they were needed. There were only four ships that had judges sitting and living on them. None of those four ships were either battlestar or Colonial One. After all, judges were supposed to be a separate branch of the Colonial government. The judges would preside over most court and appeal cases only via two or three way teleconference as the Earthers suggested. Major and capital trials would still be handled face to face, just as they always had been under Colonial Law.

The sitting judge on the far left of the group of four spoke first into and out of the screen. It was a high pitched voice, very squeaky. It also had an odd accent, notable as it came over the speaker mounted in Baltar's room. To Baltar, that meant that it must have been another one of the Earthers.

This thought struck a nerve and he felt his ears turn red with anger. He was being treated his way again because of them. This was all their fault. They must have been threatened by him somehow. After all, he was the smartest man in the whole fleet. They were hiding something and they wanted him out of the way so that he could not expose them.

"Gaius Baltar this is your last appeal against your conviction, which has been handed out. After a full and complete review of your case, as well as all of the documents involved with it, we have decided that there were not any irregularities in the court proceedings, or laws that you were convicted under. You also have not provided any new evidence, or witness to support your case. We have asked you, twice, if you had any of these items, and I will not repeat the missive that you sent back for us to review." Three of the four judges now let deep frowns come to their faces as the speaking judge covered the last point.

The speaking judge let the statements float in the air of the room in the prison ship before continuing. "It is the ruling of this court, that you are guilty, and your sentence will be carried out, three days from today."

The lead for today's panel was, in fact, not from Earth. He was a Colonial, born and bred. He had been studying the Earthers so closely that he had picked up how they talked out of habit. Besides, he liked confusing people by switching to that accent when he spoke seemingly at random. He doubted that Baltar would remember him, but he knew the monster from the many interviews he had given while he waited on his appeals and before he had been elected as the civilian leader.

He deduced that Baltar had developed a deep hatred for anything that was connected to the Colonials' new allies in any way, shape, or form. This was one of the very few safe ways that he could frak with Baltar and not draw undue attention at a later time from any armchair judge, academic, or other talking head in a news room.

Baltar could not believe what he had just heard with his own ears. It was impossible, and then his mind when into overdrive. "How could they let the Earthers do that to me?!" He did not even realize he was speaking. This had become a very normal event for him over the last year. One that he did not realize he had developed.

"You can't do that to me! It's not fair! It's barbaric!" The sound reverberating around the room was strange even to Baltar's ears. That was because he had reverted back to the accent of his birth planet, and not the one he had used for a few decades now. No longer was it what most people would have called an upper class Caprican speak pattern. It now was a little more on... call it the earthy side.

A third judge, this one a woman, lost her cool at what she was hearing. She leaned forward into the camera and looked at the man in mismatched and oddly patched red prison garb. She had to hold on to the table top's edges as she gave the man a fiery gaze.

"Fair?! Is what happened to the millions of children who died because you let the Cylons drop nuclear weapons on them fair? Is what happened to the women on the Cylon baby farms not barbaric? It was your actions that allowed these things to happen in the first place. You have to take responsibility for your actions, and the consequence of those actions and inactions."

Her tone was cutting and condescending. Baltar was not used to anyone, much less a woman, use that tone on him. And she was not done with him yet. "Baltar, your death will be quick, and with as little pain as we can possibly manage. At least with the limited recourse your actions have left us access to."

The judge got her voice and face back under control, because like the others, she knew that this was a recorded event. "That is something your victims did not have the luxury of, so count yourself lucky. We have seen many petitions for you to be turned over to the people who survived what the Cylons did to us first hand. They want to give you the justice you have been sentenced to by the simple method of beating you to death with their bare hands. I'm not talking about a onetime thing, receiving a petition like this. It is a weekly affair for our staff to have to deal with. And they're not just copies of the same paperwork being resent over and over to the judicial branch, but fresh documents every time. I don't know if your lawyer has told you, but petitions have been put forward to the Quorum to make it so that in special cases, it'll be possible for the sentence to be carried out that way. You have three days to make your peace with what you have been convicted of doing. So say we all."

The first judge to speak waved a hand, and the screen went dark. And then it was only Baltar, and the two guards, in the now slightly darker room. Baltar let his head drop, and his chin hit his chest. He was so lost in thought, trying to work out what he could do next, that he was quiet. He was so out of it that he did not even feel the guards pull at his chains to start directing him back to his small, but private, cell.

The guard assigned to do this was one of the old hands on the prison ship. He had seen and knew how to handle prisoners who had received long sentences before. He had learned to try not to set off a person who now had very little to live for. They were quiet and almost gentle as they moved him back to his cell. It was the jeering coming from some of the other cells halfway back to Baltar's cell that brought him back to the real world around him.

The red dressed Cylon had not been around for over a year. The jeering was because Baltar was not well liked among the rest of the prison ship's population. Most thought that he was an arrogant little frakker. Others just wanted to kill him because they had all lost their own families during the Cylon surprise attack. It was safe to say that he was the most hated man on the prison ship. He was hated even more than the child abusers who faced daily beatings from the other prisoners without interference from the ship's guard force. He was hated even more than any of the ship's guards.

So after his first week on the ship, he had to be given his own private cell, and for the rest of his stay, he always had to have two guards to protect him from the other inmates. It had been pointed out to the guards, by both the Warden and the prison ship's captain, that it would have been bad press for the Colonial leadership. It also would call down very close examinations of everyone even remotely connected to the incident if he did not live to see his personal date with the Headsman. This did not improve any goodwill feelings still directed at the former President of the Colonies.

* * *

For the next three days, Baltar stayed in his cell alone. Water was in short supply on the prison ship. So much so, that it was not out of the ordinary to go without showers for days. It was even common not to have as much running water in each of the cells as one might think. This at least kept him out of the group showers, and he did not even get to clean himself with the bowl and offered towels. Baltar might have lost track of the time passing time, but for the other prisoners counting down the minutes that he had left to live in this world. The more he tried to shout them down, the more of the prisoners would join in on the new game.

It was the height of entertainment for the other men and women with cells next to Baltar. They would count down the days, hours, minutes, and go all the way down to the second he had left. They would do this at random times of the day and night. When the day that was to be his last came, he was woken up at the normal time, just like any other day. It was the exact same time as any of the other steadily lowering number of prisoners were.

Prison was an exercise in tight schedules, and very little deviation was allowed to happen within those set schedules. The only change that Baltar had from normal or the rest of his fellow inmates today was at lunch time. He was not brought a midday meal. It would have been a waste of food but they would have provided one had he thought to ask. A little after all the meals had been cleared from the other detention cells, and the platters were back to the mess hall, the guards returned for him one last time.

It took six of them to do the job they were required to do, but in the end Baltar was completely stripped of his oily prison clothes. He had not been willing to obey orders, and in the end, his coverings were turned into a pile of rags in one corner of his cell. When he left the private cell, the only things he had on were the restraints attached to his wrists and ankles.

The hot air moving around the overheating ship moved across his naked skin, and Baltar still had goosebumps on his arms and now bare legs. When he had been dragged out of his cell, he had still been trying to cover himself. He kept that up as he walked to his end. He tried to focus on the warm metal deck under his feet, and this got him to thinking about the heat exchange system of the vessel. He was a smart man, after all, and when he focused, he could do some pretty amazing things. He even was able to block out all of the catcalls and wolf whistles bombarding him from both sides of the corridor he was half marched, half dragged down.

The bio-reactors were at the very back of the ship, so it was not a short walk for Baltar in the buff. He was still thinking about how to reduce the heat load in the ship right up until he felt the no-slip deck start to poke into his feet as it went from uncomfortable to slightly painful. It was starting to become very uncomfortable, and he started to limp a little as he walked towards the least traveled areas at the end of the ship. Something changed and Baltar looked up, and was shocked at what he saw stretched out before him.

He had been in this room a few times before on details to help clean the horridly smelling machines and remove the byproducts after they had done their jobs. He might have been on death row, but he was expected to work at least a few hours a week, and the guards got a kind of perverse thrill out of showing him how he was going to end up. They had been told not to physically hurt him. They had not been told that they could not attack him mentally every now and then.

He was in the bio-reactor room already. It was a very clean room, which did a very messy business, and there was no way to clean out the smell. Over half the small room's total floor area was taken over by long dull finished metal boxes. They were all closed except for one with an open metal hatch reaching up to hip height. Baltar and his escorts were already on the metal walkway going around three quarters of the open topped box. Baltar had not even noticed going up the metal stairs to the final walk of his life.

Now that Baltar was looking around, he found that he was not alone with his escorts anymore. One of the new additions was a male in long robes. Baltar thought that he must have been one of the priest of the gods, which he had not believed in since he was a bulled little boy.

There were two more prison guards, and a stranger that was covered head to foot in heavy body armor of some kind. The heavy black body armor was even covering the face and head of the person. This person in black was waiting for him, and the body armor was obviously intended to make him or her unidentifiable to any bystanders. This was a politically sensitive mission, and who knew what the backlash might turn out to be in the future for the executioner.

Baltar had no idea who it was, but thought it might be Roslin. He thought that it was her style, to want to watch her orders being carried out in person. Baltar spent some time trying to figure out who might be under all of that black armor. That distracted him enough that did not even feel the first push to get him to do a little hop that would get him down from the elevated walk way. The hop would take him from the walk way and into the open topped box below him, which was the first stage of the bio-reactor.

He had been so distracted by the person in black, that he had not even noticed the ankle chains being removed from his person. The priest started chanting, and Baltar was looking at him, but he was not looking at him at the same time. Baltar did not notice the person walking around to his exposed and bare back. He was only facing forward towards the center of the room. He had kind of a dazed look on his face, and he had not said a word in some time.

One of the guards to his front made a motion, twice. That had not worked, and finally a guard snapped a finger in front of his eyes, bringing Baltar back enough so that he could understand what was wanted. He raised his chain linked arms and the hard metal locking cuffs. The heavy chrome like chains were removed from his wrists, and they were pulled out of the metal box that was holding the one time President of the Colonies of man. They soon would be reused on someone else, without them knowing who had been the last person to use them. They might even be cleaned before the next use, but then again, maybe not.

The person standing quietly behind the traitor pulled out a black mixed metal pistol, as silent as death itself from its hip mounted holster. The little weapon was not even one of the powerful Earther supplied weapons, which were now so popular within the fleet. It was not even a Colonial Military standard issue handheld weapon. It was one you could have bought on the open market, back before the Cylon attack.

This one had been a security guard's only weapon on one of the other ships on that fateful day of the Cylon attack. This weapon was chosen because of its power, or more because of the lack thereof. It was a weapon that was only designed to be used against human criminals. So it was powerful enough to do the job but still be safe enough to use on board a ship, without too much thought of where the projectile might end up.

The black clad figure slowly put four pounds of pressure on the thin trigger, and so it discharged in a crash of sound, but very little smoke escaped the ejection port or the muzzle. The very fat, very slow, and soft flat nosed bullet turned Baltar's head into a red canoe at a little better than the speed of sound. Everyone in the room had some kind of hearing protection on but Baltar. They only noticed the fine red mist the impact had made.

Baltar had no idea about who was walking behind him. He was not even really paying attention to the priest or anyone else physically in the room with him. He was watching the red dressed blonde Cylon who had finally shown up again after being missing for so very long in his life. She was not talking to him, and he was not talking to her. They were just watching each other, not moving at all besides their eyes.

Then Baltar noticed the smell. It was an odd mix of bad food, human waste, and the odd scent of a lot of old dried blood. Then Baltar saw the last thing he would ever see on this plane of existence. The red dressed Cylon blew a kiss to him. This was followed by a flash, and it all stopped for the being who had been called Gaius Baltar. Right up until a split second ago that is. Now he was just bio mass that needed to be recycled.

* * *

The black clad guard left the room once its job was done. It was now up to the gods, the guards, and the other prisoners to do theirs. It they had noticed the headsman leaving the room, they would have sworn to the gods that it was almost skipping out of the room in joy.

The priest and the guards formed a little group and were chatting. There was not any need to check to see if the body was alive, not with that amount of damage just done to the brain. As the door to the room was closing behind the executioner, the call was made to have the work detail come in to start the work of making top soil out of the traitor.

The black clad person only had to walk about six meter, after leaving the reactor room. It went to an empty side room off a secondary corridor that had been set aside for its use and its use alone. After the hatch was closed and locked behind the headsman, the black colored body armor started coming off, one part at a time.

First was the weapon on its fake leather holster, then the heavy jacket was tossed away. These did not go onto the metal floor of the room. They instead went onto one of the three chairs in the room, which made up the sum total of the furnishings of the storage room. The thin black face mask was next, and it went straight to the gym bag on the chair closest to the hatch. Next to go in the bag, was the black head and neck covering. And into the bag followed the other items.

Thin long fingers were run through the short blonde hair, till it was all in the right places. Or close to the way the shooter liked it to look. The rest of the clothes went into the pack bag, and she quickly changed into clothes that felt more normal for her. She was not so much rushing the work of changing her clothes, but she was not slow in changing her clothes, either. She knew that she was on a tight schedule, and as it was she had misplanned how long this work was going to take.

After changing clothes, it was weapon cleaning time. She knew that she would have to do it before it was turned back in. She thought that she might as well do it now, instead of outside of the armory where it might be noticed by anyone walking by while she did the work. That would be a waste. So much time and effort had been put into making sure that no one would know who had put a bullet in the head of Baltar. This was where she was able to make up some of the time. Having only fired one shot, the weapon did not need that much cleaning.

It had taken a lot of work to find out who was supposed to be doing the deed today, and then it had taken even longer to get enough dirt on him. So much so that it had been a challenge to make it so that he owed her enough capital. Enough for him to let her take his place today on the quiet side. That had not been the only favor she had to pull.

After the weapon was clean, it went into the bag with all of the other gear she had used today. She checked herself in a pocket mirror one last time, and then left the room for good. She had not said a word, and besides humming as she had completed the tasks, she had been quiet as a church mouse. Now she had to act like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. That was not her strong suit to begin with. More so after pulling something of this scale off. This was even better than when she had put a special tasteless laxative in Saul Tigh's ambrosia bottles.

The metal hallways were empty, all the way to the small hangar built into the prison ship. The Raptor was sitting just where it had been when she had left it an hour or so ago. Skulls, as she expected, was sleeping with his feet propped up on his console inside the largest open area in the craft.

As soon as Starbuck's feet hit the stubby wing near the open hatch, he woke up like he had not been sleeping at all. He went from snoring and dead to the world, to 'I'm ready to start shooting' in less than a pair of heart beats. He had his Earther built Wilks laser pistol out and pointed at the approaching person all in the same motion. It was a prison ship after all, and you never know who might be walking around it.

Skulls put the weapon back in the handmade shark leather holster once he was awake enough to recognize the woman that had touched his craft. He did not even look one little bit sheepish for pulling and pointing a loaded weapon at her.

"So, Starbuck. How did the meeting go with the divorce lawyer?" No matter how awake he looked, Skulls could not keep the tiredness from his voice. His eyes were open, and he was fully mission ready, but that did not mean he was ready for chitchat.

Starbuck had had to come up with some kind of story to explain the reason for her needing to come over to the prison ship. So she had told the ECO that she wanted to see a lawyer about getting the status of her and Sam Anders' marriage updated. There had been a lot of laws changed and a whole mass of new ones put in place. She had even talked to one of the shipboard legal officers a few weeks ago, just so that she would have the information ready if anyone asked her.

"He said that he would have to check on some things, but that if we signed on with the Earthers, it would be legal right now. He did say that there are a lot more changes in the works for Colonials, but he had no idea how long it would take before they'd take effect. Can you believe he still wanted ten silver cubits to tell me that crap? Are you ready to go? It's time to blow this joint. That is, if you are awake."

Starbuck did not slow down one bit as she talked, mounted the wing and then took her place in the pilot's seat. She wanted to put as much space between her and this ship. Before her actions became known by one too many person and it came back to haunt her. She had half a dozen cover stories all ready to go. She just hoped that she would not have to pull any out, other than the one she had told Skulls, Raptor control, and the deck chief about.

Skulls turned in his chair, and started working his systems without needing to say anything more. When Starbuck had moved past him while padding her cover story, she had dropped her bag and climbed into the pilot's seat. Quickly she started her own required flight check list. She thought she was acting perfectly normal, even for her.

She had no idea that she was still humming aloud. Skulls would steal a glance every now and then, but would get back to his checklist. _"Whatever news she had been given, she must have liked it a lot,"_ thought the crewmen in the main cabin of the Colonial Raptor.

Starbuck was just about to explode, she had so much energy pent up inside her. She had been the one to kill Baltar! Something she had wanted to do from almost the first day she had met the man. _"It will add an interesting chapter to the book,"_ she thought to herself. She would make sure to forget about the part in that same book where she slept with the man. After all there were certain things that one should keep to themselves.

After she and Anders had patched things up about him being a human form Cylon and all, he had suggested that they write a book together. It would mostly be about the exploits of the most famous Viper pilot in the Fleet. He had gotten the idea after reading a few pre-Rifts Earther books about some kind of Black Sheep Squadron while in the cells. They would only release it after she left the military. Maybe they could live off the sales if they lived that long. That was the idea they were working with, anyway, for a life after the military.

Starbuck gave herself a slight shake to help her focus on the mission to fly back to the flagship. She had a lot of stuff still waiting on her to do before she could get off, but she was so happy that she did not care about the long shifts she was about to have to do. This whole trip had been during her off time. It was off time that she was going to have to make up. As her craft left the hangar bay from the prison ship, Starbuck had a mental picture of what Sam's face was going to look like when she finally brought him in on her little adventure today.


	16. Chapter 16 A long Dark Road

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 16 A Long Dark Road**

It did not take long for the news of Baltar's execution to fade from the minds of the people traveling in those metal cans called spaceships. The trip to, in, and through uncharted space was uneventful after months of no contact from the group that was now called the Cylon Empire. The stress seemed to lower across the fleet with each passing week that they traveled. It got even lower as they moved farther and farther from any known Cylon controlled space or even areas that might have been visited by them.

You could almost feel the stress fade away when the fleet made the first jump into the almost empty space between the Outer Arm and the Perseus Arm of the galaxy. With very little to see outside, most of the passengers and crew of the Rag Tag Fleet turned to internal things to pass the time. When they crossed the void between the Perseus Arm into the very little studied Orion Arm, it did not even warrant a notice in the fleetwide news reports.

They were down to only jumping once a day now. The rest of the time was spent working on the engines and other issues that were important enough to be a concern for the flagship. The next jump would not be started until every ship in the little fleet was ready and had communicated that it was safe to do so.

The Cylon POW's, now working with the humans, had finally been able to break into the data core that was captured from the planetoid. It had taken a lot of time and people. It was not like they had much else to do with their spare time though, as they increased their distance from the Cylons. Now the general feeling was that they were not really running from the Cylons any more. They had beaten them twice now in combat. Three times if you count the ground combat separately from the big space battle.

They were looking for the planet called Earth. They wanted the one that was described in the scrolls, but if they could find one close to the one where the Rifters had come from, they might just settle for that one as well. It was the general feeling, as reported in the fleetwide newscast. It did not mean that they would wholeheartedly stop looking for a place to live that was both safe, and safe from any Cylons that might find them ever again.

It was during this time that the Colonials realized how big the entertainment database had become with the addition of the Earthers to their group. A second surprising source of entertainment was coming from the Cylon data core. It would seem that the human form Cylons, if not needing entertainment, at least did desire it. As the team of computer hackers worked on decoding the files, innocuous entertainment media were released to the fleet in general.

They had even started to broadcast a four hour clip of new entertainment every day. It would play in a loop for a full twenty-four hours. This was so that each working shift might get to see the never before seen entertainment selection. They even had Colonial led talk shows dedicated to talking about the show that had played the day before. This was not part of the four hour loop, but an addition to it. This had dramatically slowed the slump and boredom glide path among the passengers of the fleet.

They had already set up schools and training for those in the fleet that wanted to attend. After an initially low turnout, a reward system was set up for those over the age of eighteen. This was only set up for certain skills that the Admiral and the civilian government thought were useful for the fleet. They would support history, but religious studies were less of a priority. Anything to do with hard science, food production, medical, and manufacturing were encouraged. There were a lot of other classes spread out across the fleet. Most would add some advantage to what remained of the Colonials. They were spreading skills around the fleet, and it gave people things to do that mattered.

This was not the only pattern the Rag Tag Fleet fell into after the battle of the Cylon Outpost. Admiral Adama tried to keep the fleet on its toes with all kinds of combat drills but after months and months of traveling, even the sharpest of crews can start to dull from the repetitiveness if nothing else. Adama saw his chance when a report came in that all of the fuel tankers were below the half full mark. All of the ore had been refined and moved to the tanker ships months ago. That was all of the hard to find ore that they had been able to mine since the last battle with the Cylons.

The elder Adama used the Raptors, both his and the ones owned and supported by the Earthers, to start scouting around the path of travel for the fleet. They were all supposed to be looking for the raw tylium ore the fleet used for fuel. If they just happened to pop back near a civilian ship in the fleet and make an attack run, well it was good training for those ships. That included the crews of the jump capable craft and attack planning staff.

After over a year traveling from the nebula, they had been using all of the Cylon metal and what they could find along the way to feed the machines. This would only delay the fleet for a day or three, as the mining ships quickly ripped what they needed out of the orbiting rocks.

The spread of close in weapons turrets to the other ships around the fleet meant that each ship was now much more capable of defending itself from a few Cylon Raiders. They were now the most heavily armed human civilian ships since the height of the First Cylon War. As they had more time and raw material, they would only get stronger. And as long as they were not getting into any battles they were able to stockpile enough 30mm KEW ammunition to even do some live fire training for the new crews and ships.

These surprise training events had showed, very publicly, that either some ship commanders had been lax in training or the crews themselves did not take it very seriously in the first place. Both causes did not make those commanders very happy, and soon the issues were corrected. This was one time that both Laura and Bill were willing to use the press to their advantage. This forced the issue of the lack of training among the defensive gun crews. After that all the two needed to do was let nature and the press take its course.

Eventually the fleet did find a place to stop when a solar system was found that had tylium and other useable ores that were easy to access. All of the items and ores that were needed to feed the machines of the fleet. As it turned out, this system even had a lot of water ice, which could be used to top off the tanks with the liquid that the humans needed.

* * *

The system was a binary star system made up of a blue giant and a much smaller red dwarf class star orbiting around its larger brother. The massive gravity flux of the system caused by those two stars had made it rich in medium to large sized orbiting rubble. All of which circled the twin stars in multiple bands. The fleet was able to spread out some so that each of the different missions could be carried out at the same time. This was going to be the longest time they would spend in a system since they had left the nebula. They had not even stopped as long in the Cylon outpost that the Adamas had blasted apart. That was going to cause an issue for the overall defense of the fleet. Bill was hoping that they were far enough away that Cylons should not be an issue.

The system was not that rich in tylium ore, but they were able to find enough to fill the three tankers. They even were able to have a good sized bit of reserve ore in the cargo holds of the refining ships after a few weeks of hard work. The whole system was rich in other ores as well, and the mining ships also got their fill of hard to find parts of the elemental table. This was going to help out in a lot of different areas around the fleet.

They were also working on collecting water ice, which was the focus of attention today. It was even being covered by three different news crews. The whole fleet was watching what the Earthers were trying to do. People were drawn to anything new in the news and events department.

Bill Adama was in a Raptor so that he could get a better look at what was happening. It was in a holding pattern near the starboard dorsal side of his ship. He was admiring the new gun metal color skin now covering his ship from port to starboard and bow to stern. It was the first in a long time that his girl was in a full dress. Much less a nice new full dress without any dents or scratches from older armor blocks.

The armor was not the strongest that the Earthers can make, but this armor belt was the same thickness as she was designed to carry when she was fresh off the yard. In some places, it was just layered over what remained of her old armor belt that had made it this far into the ship's long life. In other places it ran all the way down to the main hull of the warship. Bill was thinking that the raw color of the new armor plate looked good on his ship. It was a dark almost gun metal look. It was like an old dagger. Not one that would sit on a book shelf somewhere, but a real weapon.

She was now more resistant to damage than anyone in the Cylon fleet might guess, even if it was a little patched under the uniform colored outer metal. To pass the time, plans were being worked on to completely replace the armor belt on the Battlestar. Right now they were just running the numbers about how much would be needed. It also covered how many man years it would take to do the job and how much ore would need to be refined before being fed into the right armor plants to do the work.

Thinking about the Earther made armor and the weapons they were turning out to help defend the fleet got Bill to thinking about other types of help the small group had ended up giving his people. The military technology transfer had not been going only one way from the Earthers to the Colonials. After the some tests had been on the Earther made missiles, and a few beers passed around, they had found a few surprises in the test results.

One of the surprises was that the Earther made missiles were more efficient than Colonial made missiles. At least when they were fired within an atmosphere. If the weapon was used in space, the opposite was true. The issue had taken some time to run down, but soon it was tracked down to the combustion chamber of the two different weapons. Colonial weapons were optimized for space warfare and more efficient when they were used in that environment. After all, that had accounted for over ninety-nine percent of the combat that took place in the last war.

The factory ships in the Colonial Fleet fabricated new combustion chambers and nozzles after they were given the detailed specifications. This allowed them to refit the stocks of Earth made weapons stored on the two Earth made ships. It had taken some time, but eventually all of the Earth weapons had been modified for use in space warfare. This gave the Earth made weapons an increase of just around twenty percent in overall speed of the weapons at impact, though only if the modified weapons were launched against a space bound target. The older chambers and nozzles were not scrapped after they had been removed from the missiles that were in the launchers and in storage. They were put into storage in The Void for future need. Stranger things had happened to both groups before.

That was not the only modification to come out of those tests and the reviewed data from the Battle of the Outpost. Both groups used missiles that were called hybrid engines by both the people who built them and the ones that maintained them. They were solid fueled, but to get an extra boost out of the limited space on the weapons, they used additional long storage liquid oxidizers that were a bit on the exotic side, supplied via a turbo pump. The liquid oxidizer was now standardized across the fleet on all new built weapons.

Now using metallurgical technology transferred from the Earthers, and few other little modifications, the new built Colonial and old Earth made missiles would all have a two percent improvement in speed and an increase of four percent in range over their Cylon counterparts. The new turbo pumps would equalize the weapons' performance. Those new turbo-pumps and new warheads were only going on the new built weapons. The older Colonial weapons would just have to make do until they were used up in combat, training, or broke down so bad that they had to be rebuilt from the frame out. It was expected to take only about eighteen months after the Battle of the Outpost for all Colonial missiles to be brought up to the new weapons standard. That is, unless something happened to change the manufacturing priority this project enjoyed.

The fleet's ships had also been using Earther supplied chemistry. One of those applications was in the design of Colonial warheads. They were now being built with a more powerful warhead that was better than anything but a nuclear warhead when it went boom. It would not be long before the full range of Earth made warheads would be in at least limited production.

That did not mean that the Colonials would have it all their way in a missile engagement with the Cylons the next time they bumped into each other, though. Cylon seeking systems and counter seeking system were still a lot better than any of the Human made weapons. All it would take was for the Cylons to live long enough to report back about them or to capture one of the Earth made weapons.

Adama and his people had more than a few examples of all the different types of seeking systems that the Cylons used. It was just that right now the Rag Tag Fleet could not take the time to learn how to make more of them. At least not without putting other important projects behind schedule. It was just added to the list of products that they would like to put into production when they had the time and the space to physically put those production lines in. That is, once they found a place where they could do that, and had the extra people that could do all of that work.

Bill had to shake his head and get back to thinking about his lady. From the entire battery of tests that they had run on his girl, the old Battlestar was now getting to be as tough as she had been in her prime. She was still thousands of tons lighter now, and they were still adding plates to even out the stress loading. The stress loading test was run every month and the notes were made on the changes. If things worked out, the Galactic's armored skin would almost be as strong per unit surface area as the latest run of Mercury class or Valkyrie class Battlestars.

Bill had smiled inside, when Lee told him over a family dinner one night that the Admiral needed to stop hogging all of the new toys the Earthers were making. They had a good laugh when Saul jumped in and told the younger Adama that age has its privileges after all. So he needed to just get over it. The only way to placate the younger Adama, was to okay the building of more laser weapons and the specially modified turrets needed to hold them. They were going to replace about half of the complement of close in weapons on the newer class of Battlestar to match the older warship. It was just a matter of time and having the raw material. The temptation to simply replace all the flak cannons with lasers was strong, but realistically, there were things flak could do that laser could not, and even the Earthers tended to favor a varied selection of weaponry.

Bill Adama's train of thought was interrupted by a glint in the black of space, which then started to take the shape of a modified Raptor. This was what the Admiral had been waiting for the last hour to see, not that he was complaining in his mind about the delay. Captain Kelly and his people had been told that they were not going to have to worry about being cold on the trip through space. They had in fact been sweating quite a bit, just like they had been told.

This was because the spaceships had a limited ability to vent the waste heat they generated in normal operation. Even when the ships were just sitting still in space, they made for a balmy day on the inside. It had been a case of having to live in it for a while to believe it. The Earthers had been coming up and testing some crazy ideas to help control the heat. They were not used to so much heat, not after so many years living on that cold planet. Even if to the more experienced Colonials it was just comfortably warm.

However this one took the cake when it came to off the wall ideas that had been suggested. At least it did have an advantage of not having been tried before. At least by the Colonials, or written about in any book within the fleet. If anyone had done something like this before, they never bothered to write it down for later review by someone else.

The Earther controlled Raptor had gone out and found what it had been looking for while the rest of the fleet was working the rest of the solar system. Once the great Battlestar had been moved closer, the Earthers launched their crazy mission. Adama could not veto the mission because none of his people were involved. He, so far, was only out the fuel used to move his ship and make this mission a little easier for the Earthers. If this idea did work on his ship, then it might be helpful on some of the smaller ships of the fleet. He knew of about half a dozen other ship's staffs that were looking at the idea with a magnifying glass. Now it was up to this small group to prove that it might be done. At worst, they were going to point out a way that the idea did not work. Sometimes that is almost as good. As long as no one was hurt in the effort.

Bill looked over to the ECO of the craft he was catching a ride in. "Put the data from Tango Two on Screen Four please."

The ECO did not even look up at the person who spoke. The space suited and helmeted person just made a few hand movements on the keyboards. In a flash, the data of what the Earthers were doing not too far from the second Raptor was now on the largest display that the Raptor was outfitted with.

As Adama watched, the Earther crewed Raptor closed in on his ship at an incredibly slow speed. He could even make out what was happening in the area around the small craft as it went about its mission. The Earthers had come up with a large insulated net that was handmade, as well as a handbuilt control system that could attach to the bottom of the Earther crewed Raptor. They deployed the net around a mostly water ice ball that was a little over a hundred meters around at its widest. It even looked off white, it should have very little organics mixed in the frozen H2O and other rare ices.

After the insulated net had been deployed around the ice ball, they then fired the engines on the Raptor to get the whole thing to start moving. To keep the very hot engine exhaust from melting the ice, the Raptor would stop firing its main engines after the small craft had passed the captured ice ball. The line connecting the net to the Raptor would tighten, and then pull the ice ball in the direction the Raptor was heading. When the ice ball slowly passed by the Raptor the little craft would fire its engines again at a lower power setting until it passed the ice ball again.

They would keep doing this until the ice ball was moving in the right direction, and at the speed they wanted it to move. They were using what they called Newton's laws to move the ice ball around. It was crazy and the crew of the Raptor was getting slammed around some as they kept being jerked around by the larger ice ball. But it was slowly dragging the ice ball, whip sawing back and forth. And it was getting closer to the open number one cargo hold on the ship that was still called the Revenge by those who lived and worked in her.

Adama was again amazed at the piloting skill of Athena as she cut the line connecting the Raptor to the ball of ice. It was at just the right time. On the screen it looked like the cut line had been within inches of the invisible line in space. Then the now freed massive ice ball kept on moving at no more than a foot a second. Soon it disappeared into the dark cargo hold of the onetime blue water ship. It was a perfect shot that any sports star would have loved and envied at the same time. The heavy main hatch swiftly moved and locked itself into place on automatic.

The Admiral knew that the Number One Hold was empty except for six of the most physically strong battle machines that the Earthers had access to. They were standing all along the sides of the cargo hold to help catch and hold the slow moving ice ball. Them and some extra gravity plates that had been installed for this odd little test.

The math that had been run half a dozen times and said it should not be an issue. Adama however, did not trust the math. No matter how many times it had been run or how many times it said the same thing over and over again. He did trust his eyes, though, and he was still having a hard time believing what he was seeing. Even as he was seeing it. He was thankful that the event had been recorded from so many different angles all at the same time.

Adama had his full flight gear on, but he had not sealed it in the pressurized compartment of the Raptor today. If they were going into combat or any closer to what was unfolding in front of them, then yes, they all would have to be fully rigged with helmets locked down. Space had so many ways that it could kill the reckless.

Skulls and Racetrack had been able to hook directly into the communication systems of the other Raptor only a few kilometers away before launching for today's mission. So they all could hear a blow by blow report of the project as it unfolded before and around them. The Earthers did not sound that overly stressed on the short ranged radio Bill had stuck into his left ear. Even after the cargo hold's armored and airtight hatch closed behind the slowly moving ice ball. That was the sign that they had indeed done the main part of the task. At least that was what it sounded like to Bill's well trained ear.

Skulls was shaking his head slightly from side to side. "I still don't believe it, and I saw the whole thing with my own eyes." Skulls was still looking at the live video feed on the large display that was less than a meter from his face. It was replaying the last five minutes of Phase One of the mission over and over again.

Racetrack jumped in verbally with both feet from her location at the front of the craft. With the massive glass cockpit windows covering her whole possible field of view, she had been able to use her old Mark Ones to watch along with the video feed displayed on her right knee monitor.

"It's not done yet. This was only Phase One of their crazy frakking idea, so far. They can still screw it up, somewhere along the way."

Adama looked over to the seated officer, and nodded in agreement with what the pilot said. For some reason, he felt that he needed to defend the Earthers. More importantly, defend what they had been able to do so far.

"They did catch an ice ball, and get it where they wanted it go. All without anyone getting hurt... That we know of. Now all they have to see is if it was worth the effort or not."

Bill turned to look toward the front of the Raptor. "Let's head back to the barn, Racetrack." Bill did a circle motion with one hand to emphasize what he had said. It was a sign that the Earthers tended to use as shorthand for the same statement.

The Admiral did not have to say more. As soon as he was seated, Racetrack applied some power to the little craft's large twin main engines. The Colonial craft soon zipped back to the hangar bay on the other side of the warship. It was just another set of lights moving around this solar system.

* * *

Bill made a quick trip through the inside passageways of his ship at a fast and determined walk. He boarded the Earther warship that was attached to this side of his vessel. It might have been faster to use one of the two launch houses on the Lucky Find, but as a safety precaution the pair of them were shut down while this unique operation was in progress. He was able to make it all the way to the forward cargo bay, which now had an ice ball melting in it. He had not even been stopped at an internal guard point. Those had been taken down a few months ago.

The only guard had been at the hatch to the cargo bay. He let the Admiral through without any issues after verifying his face. The delay was maybe ten seconds, and now he stood behind Captain Kelly in the cargo bay. The good sized cargo hold had a second temporary airlock installed above the ice and between the main locking hatch overhead. It was nearest the hatch leading to the dark of space at the top of the much modified cargo hold. Bill could feel the difference in the air around him as soon as he stopped moving for a few seconds. It was noticeable cooler, almost cold to the bare skin of Bill's neck. Bill thought that the temperature was quickly falling.

Kelly knew someone had walked up to his side when he heard the other man's foot falls, but he did not know who it might be. At least, not until he turned to see who was standing so close and still not saying a word. He just gave the other man a slight smile as soon as he saw the craggy face out of the corner of his eye. He could not help but have a smile on his face, as he turned to see the other man a little better.

"Well Kelly, you did it, but how is it working?" Adama was looking around the metal walled cargo hold that had an oblong shaped ice cube sitting almost dead center in it.

Before Kelly could respond a sixty square foot block of ice cleaved off of the main ice ball, and fell to the deck with a crash. It took a few seconds for the sound of the crashing ice to stop echoing around the room. It was quickly and equally loudly accompanied by a wet cloud of gasses shooting out of the newly exposed ice into the cargo bay. It had looked to Kelly like steam explosions coming out of a geyser back on Earth, only it was cold enough to burn.

Kelly had to pick up his left foot so that a fist sized chunk would miss him as it slid across the deck. He did this without thinking about it, and he addressed the questions from the Admiral. "It's already ten degrees cooler in here and dropping. The metal deck is already transferring the lower temperature by conduction deeper into the ship."

Kelly made a sniff and pointed to the now less energetic geyser that was still outgassing only a few meters away from the pair of men. "We are getting jets of mixed gasses, but nothing dangerous. Or in any large concentration that the filters can't handle."

He pointed at a second and third slower jet coming out of the newly exposed ice, and then to the floor of the cargo bay. Bill could see that the liquid was already draining away from the ball of ancient ice in a growing number of streams of water.

Kelly kept talking as he saw the direction the Admiral was looking. "The drains over there are working, so far. And the cold water is cooling other areas of the ship before being dumped to the Number Three fresh water tank."

Kelly pulled out a small computer to read the raw input from some the sensors mounted around the cargo bay and the rest of the ship. "The first noticeable temperature drops have not reached that far yet, but it should in the next five or ten minutes. That is unless we have a leak somewhere in the life support systems."

Bill's eyes shot up into his forehead. "That's good news. I would love to read the final report when it's done. The larger ships don't really have a problem with heat, but the smaller ones, it would cut down on the tasks we have been having to give to the mining ships. They could then just worry about getting the ores we need instead of having to pull up so much ice for us also."

One part of Bill's mind knew that this was more than a bit of wishful thinking on his part. If however, they could reduce the need to find water ice by even ten percent, then it would be helpful and worth the effort to replay this mission.

Bill did not want it to look like he was micromanaging the other commander, so he quit talking. When Kelly nodded his head and walked away to handle some problem that Adama did not notice, Bill also started walking away. Only to stop all of a sudden as his eyes kind of glazed over. If anyone noticed, he was just looking at a section of drains along the metal deck. What he was doing was enjoying the cool air now flowing around him and out the open hatch into the rest of the ship. The cool moving air was almost planet like. Well, if you closed your eyes, and had a very good imagination it was almost planet like. Not as cold as New Caprica had been, but it was like cool breezes on a perfect autumn day on Caprica. Maybe the Earthers did have a point and it was a little too warm on the Battlestar. Bill knew that the life support systems could easily keep the temperature dialed a few degrees cooler without issues. He resolved to look into it. Quietly.

It did not take long for this one long corridor of the flagship to become the most popular area of the whole flagship. The cool air was released in waves whenever the main hatch was opened. Any toxic gasses would be filtered out and the hatch was kept open for about ten minutes before it was closed again. The heart of the ice ball had been thirty five degrees Kelvin when they had started moving it to this hold and it had warmed to only about seventy degrees Kelvin by the time the outer hatch had closed it off from space.

It took almost a week for the captured space iceball to turn into slush. The half melted slush was being fed into pipes, which were cooling down rooms and cabins as it trickled all the way to the engine room of the ship. Every bit of data was collected and made into a report that was posted on the fleet information network.

Just before they were about to empty the cargo space of ice, all of the valves were shut off in the modified cargo bay. The earth crewed Raptor found a second block of ice almost twice as large as the last one. They were able to bring it aboard into the Number One cargo hold, just like they had with the first one. This time the valves in the cargo bay were open into The Void. That was the space between the hulls of the two Earth made ships and the Colonial made ship. The gases and cold water were pumped into that location, and it did not stop until after the temperature had reached or had dropped down to about twenty-four degrees Celsius. This would slowly add more pressure in that area to help workers work there without needing full on space suits.

The fleet stayed in the star system for two full weeks. It was a hard second week as they stripped the system of any needed materials. The only items they could not pull from those cold and lifeless rocks were certain kinds of organic materials that also could not be found in the orbital bodies of ice. The Colonial ships were very efficient at atmosphere recycling, but very few systems were a hundred percent or even ninety percent, and so the loss would have to be made up somehow. At first this was taken from storage tanks that the Earthers had helped fill, then the addition of Cylon biomass, and finally with the odd human that died within the fleet. It had pushed back the level of withdrawals from those tanks, but soon it was going to hit a tipping point deep into the negative range.

Soon a list of specific organics were added to the list of items for the scouting Raptors to look for on their wide ranging missions around the area that the fleet was traveling through. For some months more the fleet went on, and things were quiet in the fleet and the space around them. It was some months later that one Raptor was able to find a life bearing planet after much looking, and it was not that far off the general direction the fleet was traveling.

It was not a habitable planet for humans, with very high concentrations of Carbon Dioxide in the atmosphere. It might not have been right for animals of any kind, but it was a great place for algae and top soil to proliferate on a world wide scale. These were both items the fleet needed to top off with in order to safely keep going. It was thought that the fleet would only need to stop for a few days, and it was not that far off the course the fleet was taking.

So the orders were given, and the whole fleet was detoured to the newly found solar system. It did not take long for word to spread around the fleet. As the fleet was making its way to this planet, half a dozen press shows had asked for and received one of the two senior Colonials to field questions. Between that, and the planetary data, it was enough to stop the feeding frenzy. What they did not know was that Bill Adama had been carefully avoiding any star system that even looked like it might have a habitable planet before they had gotten short on those organics. Those locations were pulled from whichever Raptor had found them, and the crews kept quiet in the face of possible political issues. This was a very closely held security issue and Bill had learned his lessons after the news of New Caprica had spread around the fleet.

Laura did not have to worry about people wanting to go dirtside on this life supporting world once they reached the system. What was the use of walking on a planet if you had to stay in environmental suits the entire time you were there? The sun showed through the clouds in more of an off yellow color that was just wrong to the Colonial eyes. The gravity was also a little high and the air pressure was way too high not to need a mask even if it had the right amount of oxygen, and it did not. The oxygen content was about half what a human needed to breathe without any support equipment.

All of these things, once reported a few times, were enough to make sure that no one that did not need to go into the gravity well did so. They had done two live interviews on the planet, and it had been enough according to the news polls. On the plus side, by now the whole fleet was using the ice trick the Earthers had come up with. A few of the larger ships even were having organized snowball fights in the landing bays. They were setting up teams, and tournaments complete with a list of prizes for the top teams.

The recovery of organics and top soil was completed with the help of the Earthers in their manned power suits, as the Colonials had started calling their combat robots. Robots as a word and a term, was something Colonials just could not get used to saying, not after their experience with the Cylons. The stopover had only been scheduled for three days from jumping in until the last ship left the system and Bill was going to do his best to keep as close to that timeline as he could. As with most plans when you were dealing with civilians, it did not work out the way he had planned.

Both Bill and Laura were worried that if they spent too much time in this system, no matter how it was not capable of supporting life, some people in the fleet might start to push for the Military to somehow make the planet right for them to live on. Stranger things had been brought up before within the fleet.

The Earthers would help load the cargo into one of the heavy lift cargo shuttles with help from Colonials in their collection gear. Then the craft loaded with bio active material would lift out of the gravity well and distribute its cargo to all the ships of the fleet. In only a few very short days, all of the ships in the fleet had their tanks completely filled with the material. They were even able to dump the low production vats and refill them with new stock. This would raise the total output of the algae to near the maximum possible. This would do nothing for the flavor of the stuff coming out of the vats, but the few animals on the ships could eat the dumped algae with glee. That would mean more eggs and milk for the rest of the fleet to enjoy.

Each ship needed at most two or three tons of the stuff just to keep both the farms going, and to top off the algae vats. That did not count what was needed to refill the refreshing tanks that each ship needed to keep the vats healthy and in a high level of production.

Each of the GAL 360's was supposed to be able to lift seventy tons of cargo safely. But with the higher local gravity, and the limited cubic volume the craft were built with, they regularly lifted off planet with only thirty to forty tons of the wet and green mess within their metal walls. It was just very bulky and not that dense, as far as cargoes went.

The vats were going to be very important from now on, because they would be supplying over 99.99% of the protein to the people on the ships as soon as they were all up to full production again. This was due to the supply of frozen or preserved meats being almost reduced to emergency levels. The limited number of live animals were simply not able to meet the protein requirements, not for a little over sixty thousand people. They would keep a sizeable stock of animal protein carefully locked away on four of the ships in the fleet. The various hydroponics labs set up around the fleet were still supplying the majority of the grains and fruits, but even that supply was going to start to run short soon.

The meat could only be touched if an emergency happened. Like say, the vats were damaged or some other devastating events that made it life or death for the ships occurred. The news that the vats were going to be the prime source of protein again, did cause a morale hit of some magnitude across the fleet, but it was not unexpected nor something they had not had to deal with before.

There had been a fleet wide announcement that something like that was going to happen even before Baltar was put to death. The vats were accounting for more and more of the protein needs of the fleet. So this was not unexpected. Except that is, for the Earthers. They had no idea of the joy they were about to experience for the foreseeable future. The carefully hidden spices were broken out after the fleet had been told no more real meat would be served. It was widely viewed that the only way to eat algae protein was by finding anything else to cover the taste of it.

* * *

Four months after topping off the biomass at the carbon rich planet, Captain Kelly was in the CIC of the flagship Battlestar. He had been cross training with the Colonial Fleet for some time now. This was so that he could stand a watch on the massive space going warship. He was the elected leader over all of the people from Earth, Cylon converts, and the Colonials who had moved into their areas. It was a lot of authority and a lot of work to be done, but not so much as when they had been planetside. His staff was now augmented by his two deputies, Max and Bob. They handled the majority of the non-military workload for him. Besides, Captain Kelly had been a ship's master for a few decades. He simply did not feel complete without the ability or skills to command a ship of war. In other words, he was bored out of his everloving mind. This was the only way he had come up with that could alleviate the issue.

For this day's jump, the CIC was full of personnel, but it was just another day in the almost three years of travel after leaving the system hidden in a nebula. There had not been any contact with anything or anyone from their old lives since the Battle of the Outpost. That was also why when the alarm was sounded, it took a few seconds to sink in to everyone that something was amiss on their otherwise normal day. They spent time looking at screens, and thinking about what was going around them, all before their minds ordered their feet and legs to start moving at a rapid pace.

Kelly was standing next to the Admiral whom he had become close friends with over the last three years. He was cleared to be in charge of a shift, but if the fleet was making a move, you could bet your whole paycheck that the Admiral was going to be on deck.

They were watching the countdown clocks mounted on each of the four walls of the room, all slowly counting down to zero. This would signal the start of their next jump into uncharted space, and they would be the first ship to leave this section of space. Every week, the two Battlestars took turns doing this.

The training value was that they would never know what dangers might lurk for them on the other side of the interstellar jump. The space they were going to would have been checked by a scouting Raptor, but the humans in command knew all too well how good Cylon stealth systems were. And now they knew what the Earthers could do. Each fleet wide jump was thus a move into the unknown.

Felix was multitasking, as was normal for him, and he almost missed the display entirely. It was a new system, handbuilt by a mix of Earthers, Colonials, and even some of the technical school students. Even the alert sound was non-standard. The new station was called ESM or Electronic Support Measures. The idea around it was simple in theory, but it was not simple to make or even know if it was working. It was supposed to detect, intercept, and identify any of the types of radiated electromagnetic energy known to come from Earth based technologies. It was even supposed to be capable of detecting some old Colonial and pre-Colonial systems.

It was not a normally occupied system in the CIC. Even during battle drills it was just an empty seat. Someone would just check its readouts every few days or so. Then they would move along to another system where it would be checked, and it would be logged that the check had been done. Now that unmanned station had a flashing red light on or near where the operator would have been sitting. Again, that is, if it had been manned in the first place.

It took Felix seconds to remember that he had been told what the flashing red light meant. It had been back when the station was shoehorned into the already confined space of the old ship's CIC. A quick look at the countdown clock told him that he did not have much time, so he went with his gut feeling. It was just like he was trained to do, as the acting XO of a Battlestar. He would take that job permanently when Saul Tigh finally fully and officially retired. Until then, he was the Acting XO whenever that old daggit was not on shift.

"Abort the Jump! Abort the jump!" Felix shouted as he stared at the flashing light and turned the old fashioned jump command key back to safe, and into the offline position. This started a whole cascade of movement within the flagship's CIC.

"Sir, the ESM is alerting possible contact!"

By regulation, Felix should have said the second statement again. Instead Felix bolted from his work area towards the new information station. He wanted to get a closer look at the machine that might have just caused him to have a crapload of egg on his face. It would not have been the first time something like that had happened to someone in the CIC. It just very rarely happened to him, and he was more than a little proud of that score. It was just that sometimes you had to roll a hard six.

While Felix was moving to sit at the improvised ESM station. The rest of the bridge crew and CIC staff went into overdrive, trying to stop the rest of the fleet from moving to its next jump point down the rough course the Admiral had laid out. The one they had been moving along for the last couple of years.

After Felix had taken the padded seat, he automatically started manipulating some of the knobs at the station. He was trying desperately to remember the one class he had on the system. It had been so many months ago, he could no longer remember all of it. He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he did not notice the three other men standing around him. They were looking down and over his shoulder. They wanted to know was happening down at the screen.

Admiral Adama cleared his throat softly, so that he could let Felix know he was there without scaring the younger man to death. It only half worked. Felix had grown a lot over the last few years. The only thing stopping him from being the XO was that Felix had a problem standing up to one Bill Adama. Felix was better at standing up to Tigh or Lee, but Bill Adama could still make the younger man wet his pants most of the time.

Felix spun around from being hunched over the system, to see the three senior officers inches from his seated form. He started sputtering trying to get out what he had done or try to come up with a better reason for his action.

"Sir, I don't know what it's trying to tell me, but it's picked up something." Felix was both excited and exasperated at the same time.

Kelly was looking around the young officer to get a better look at the display screen. When Felix turned in the seat, the younger man blocked off his limited view of the small screen. He could not see much so he spoke in barely accented Caprican and in a voice that would carry the short distance he needed it to. He both did not want to scare the man or embarrass him if he did not have to. He also wanted to know what was going on.

"Mr. Gaeta. Why don't you let me have a look?"

Felix moved away with a mix of relief and frustration at someone else doing anything that was close to being his job. The Earther did not even notice the look on Felix's face or the set of his shoulders when he first vacated the chair and stood not that far behind him. Felix was going to remember what had just happened. Who knows if he would take it as a learning point or turn it into something... more dangerous. Slowly Felix's eyes got larger as he watched the old man work. Felix resolved to add a little training time on this system, because he quickly became lost in what was going on with it.

Kelly did not notice and just started moving some knobs, and adjusting some other items with a set expression on his face. Kelly was not the best at the ESM systems in the fleet, but he could hum the tune when he had to. It was loosely based on a system from his ship, after all. So he had made sure that he knew how to use this type of system, at least minimally.

Kelly's hands quit moving like someone had unplugged the control between the brain and his fingertips and he turned to look up at the two other senior offices. He was careful not to let anything show on his face, as he spoke to them in a level voice. He was not sure that he believed it himself. Not after traveling the stars for almost three years.

"Bill, it's some kind of radio wave, is what it's picking up. I already checked the system logs. They said that it started picking them up a few hours ago."

Now Kelly looked over to Felix and Tigh and around to the nearest manned stations. "But no one noticed the alerts."

Kelly knew that this was going to be viewed as a lapse in training among the CIC staff, and it was, but it was not his place yet to be so blunt about the issue. "When it picked up the jump prep on the other systems, it tripped a few code lines that someone very smart had put into this lashed up software. That's when it started with the flashing alert." Kelly pointed to Felix with his finger pointed like a knife hand, but palm up to make it less of a threat or insult.

"That is what Mr. Gaeta saw. I can't make anything out in the transmissions that were picked up." Now Kelly did an exaggerated negative head shake.

"But I'm also not the best at working through the raw data that it's picking up. I worked on these systems, but it was a few decades ago. I think it would be faster to call up someone with more up to date training."

When Kelly looked up to the Admiral, he could tell that Bill was not connecting the dots all on his own. Bill gave him a come along motion. Kelly gave a slight nod and started talking again.

"What that means, in plain speak. Is that I can't tell you where the radio wave is coming from. I think we need to get some of the geeks back up here to check the raw historical data. And anything new that might be picked up by the receiver. Data's still coming in, and it's still being archived on the station's data drives."

Before Adama could agree with him, his attention was diverted by an announcement from the communication station all the way across the CIC. That did not mean that the whole CIC had a problem understanding, much less hearing, what was yelled out to the room as a whole.

"Sir, Pegasus Actual on the line. He wants to know what's wrong, and if we need any assistance." The voice was clear and strong as it cut through the noise of the other stations that made up this command center.

Adama had to think fast on his feet. Whatever he said would spread around the fleet like a Cylon attack. By now all of the ships in the fleet will have known that something different was up, and strange would make them all nervous. They would be like a cat surrounded by a pack of hungry wild daggits with a chew toy tied to its neck.

"Tell my son that we are working on a last second secondary system issue. We should have a better idea of what's going on by the end of this shift." Now Bill was working the issue, like he did any of a dozen others that he had to deal with in his life time.

"Send out to all ships of the fleet. Keep all the currant jump coordinates loaded, but they are to spin down their jump drives. We are not going anywhere until the same time tomorrow. Then we will try it again. Let the commander of the Pegasus know that I will contact him later with any update." Bill was looking around the room. His head was on a swivel as he used a trained eye to read each member the duty crew.

 _"Well, that should buy me some time,"_ thought the older Adama before he started refocusing on the real problem that had smacked them all in the face like a dead fish.

"Mr. Gaeta get the crew for this system up here now, and check this data. I want this taken care of as quietly as possible. At least, until we find out what is going on. Then you are going to need to put together a complete official report."

Bill gave a toss of his head, to point towards the center of the CIC, then he, Saul, and Kelly left the station. They slowly walked and made their way back to the main plotting table out of earshot of the rest of the CIC staff. He had been watching Captain Kelly, and to him the other man seemed nervous, and a little excited. Those were two terms that Bill had never associated with the Earther before today.

Bill looked around, and leaned in closer to the other two men. It was just as three new people entered the CIC, and went straight to the ESM station at a quick walk that Bill changed his mind about what he was going to say. He silently directed the group back the way they had come. It was quickly determined that none of the leaders had any idea what had happened. With nothing else to do, Bill went with the distraction of the ESM team a few steps away from the center of the room. Bill watched the people work on the handbuilt station. In only a few minutes, one of the new trio that had been working and softly talking among themselves was walking back to the three officers with a set look around her eyes.

Kelly was closest to her, and so he spoke first. Besides, he had known her the longest of any one else in the room. "So Sophia, what's up?"

Sophia Ryan was still technically the XO of the Lucky Find, but she was a capable and very smart person. So she had found something else to occupy her time given her very light workload. She pitched her voice a little low so that it would not carry too far. This is a lot harder to do, after so many long months with very little to do. It was like Christmas day and a birthday all rolled into one.

"Gentlemen. It is a radio wave detection. The main problem is that the harmonics are all screwy. We need more information, and from different locations. We need to do this to get a better idea of where the energy wave is coming from. Or we can wait a few weeks right here, and maybe we could get it narrowed down, but I'm not sure that will work in the end." Sophia stopped talking for just a few seconds.

She had a little sweat building up on her upper lip and she felt that it was up to her. "Gentlemen, I think we need to launch the birds."

Adama's head snapped to one side, so that he could better look at the Earther. He did not say anything for a heartbeat. "Kelly, do you think the craft can do it?"

The Admiral was talking about what had been another little side project to give the more technically minded souls something for their minds, and more importantly their fingers, to do. Besides let them cause any number of unknown troubles around the modified spaceship, that is. They were drawing pay and it had only cost them some spare parts.

Kelly gave the fleet commander a sly smile in return for the unspoken cue. "There's only one way to find out. I can have both my Raptors ready to go in under an hour or so. Just give the word, and we can send them on the way. You will just have to tell them were to go, and how long they are going to need to stay out there."

Adama nodded and went into full command tone, and started giving out the orders. He now had a plan of action. He even thought that it was a pretty good plan. Only time would tell if it was going to be worth the time. At worst they would be able to get some good training on some very specialized small craft.

"Go. Let them know they are going to be needed, and have a short prep time before launching. Now where do we send them?" He returned his gaze back to the female Earther officer.

Sophia, for her part, passed an Earther style piece of paper over to the fleet commander with a sly grin on her face. "On this," she said in a still low tone. The paper slip had some numbers neatly written on it. This was her idea of where they should go and how long they needed to be there.

Bill took the note and handed it off to Felix. Felix took the paper and when he turned to walk away, Sophia was on his heels in seconds. He would check the numbers and make sure that they were the best. He was betting that they most likely were, but it was his job to make sure they were correct, and input from the Earthborn officer would be very helpful.

A little over an hour later, a small formation of four small craft separated from the rest of the human fleet floating in the deep black of space. Two were Earther controlled and two were Colonial controlled, all of them highly modified Raptors. They launched from two separate and different sides of the modified Battlestar depending on who was responsible for them. The two person space craft were all outfitted with experimental and handbuilt electronic equipment that took up almost all of the open cargo volume.

These four modified craft had been put together so that they could pick up radio and radar generated energy. The reason for the size of the equipment, was because they could do it over a wide spectrum and with a wide field of coverage. They had only been able to test one craft at time, to train the crews as much as to test if the equipment worked as they were supposed to.

The four craft jumped away from the fleet within a few seconds of each other, but their destinations were quite different from each other. Each craft went the same distance, exactly eight light-years from the center of the human refugee fleet. One each went in a straight line path upwards and downwards from the fleet's current position while the other two went to port and starboard or east and west relative to the fleet.

They would stay at their isolated stations for four hours, no matter if their systems said that they had picked up anything or not. They had to stay in those locations for two hundred and forty minutes, no more and almost as important no less than that Otherwise, the data might be corrupted when compared to each other.

Precision was a strict requirement on this mission, no freelancing was allowed no matter how bored they might be. In other words, pilots like Starbuck were not going to be on this mission. This had been one of the key requirements of being assigned to those four unique craft. It had been the one point that had washed out most of those who volunteered for the mission.

It was a long wait on those four craft to return to the fleet. The news on why the fleet had stopped its last jump had started to trickle out. Slowly at first, and then it got faster. The information was percolating throughout the stalled fleet. It took more time than normal, because there was so little information in the first place to feed the rumor mill.

It had gotten more common over the last six months for a ship to abort a jump due to a last minute issue that would put the ship at risk. So much so that it was not even a newsworthy event any more for the fleet's media to pass around. The only difference was that this time it was the flagship that had called out an issue at the last minute.

Besides, it is hard to pass a rumor around if you don't have much of a starting or stopping point to begin with. At least until it can develop its own momentum from a few people with very fertile imaginations. That was the point that they were just getting to when the next change happened to get the fleet's attention.

When the four Raptors returned and landed on the old Battlestar's only hangar bay, the first demands for real information came into the CIC. It came from the other leadership personnel in other ships, and from the more aggressive members of the Press. After all, why would the small interstellar craft be launched from the flagship if none of the fleet had moved to its new location?

After so long working with the same people this did not come as a surprise to anyone on the Colonial warship. Bill Adama was already working on a press release when the official requests first started coming in in a slowly building flood. He was hoping that the press release would buy him some time. At least long enough for the information brought back by the Raptors to be looked at before he said the wrong thing, or even a list of what might turn out to be the wrong things.

The release was a simple seven line statement that he was careful not to use large words in. The gist of the message was that they were checking out some odd energy waves in the local area. Ones that the Battlestar had detected at the last minute before jumping to the next location. He made sure not to say anything about Earth, or any other mechanical issue that might cause other problems down the road. The statement also said that they wanted to take the time to check out the strange signals in case they could somehow affect them later.

In fact, the press release did buy him some peace from the demands to know what was going on. Bill knew that it would be good for a few hours before it started all over again. That was the best that anyone in the CIC could hope for. That is until the news talk shows picked up on the statement of 'affect them later'.

Now the talking heads started running rampant. Many thought that maybe it was Cylon signals that had been detected and that they could be attacked at any time by the rampaging machines. It was not often that this group of talking heads got it so wrong right off the bat. With evil smiles hidden behind their hands or computer screens, Bill and his staff just let it run until they had more information.

A small and very private betting pool was set up in the slightly expanded CICs on the two Battlestars. They laid odds on how long and who would be the first of the news talk shows to apologize when the truth came out. Stuff like that happens all the time when you have a bored crew. Bill and Kelly had already cornered the boxes that said 'never going to happen', with a silver cubit each, and only two people could have the same boxes in the betting pool. That put a damper on the betting for now.

It was six hours after the four Raptors returned that the Admiral's staff were ready to brief the rest of the leadership of the fleet on their early findings. Within only a few hours after their return, the ESM crews knew that they had something that was worth the time to have a meeting with the leadership of the fleet.

The meeting would be held on the flagship, even though the Battlestar Pegasus was still better prepared and equipped to handle a task like this meeting. No one had the guts to ask the fleet commander to leave his ship to go to a meeting about the rest of the fleet under his command. Rank had its privileges after all.

So it was a small meeting with only the Admiral, the President, Lee Adama, Captain Kelly, Athena and Sophia for what might be one of the most important meetings in the history of the Colonial people. They were not going to have this meeting in the CIC. That was a guarantee that the information would flood out to the rest of the fleet by the end of the current shift.

Sophia and Athena were at the head of the room reviewing the short brief they had put together as the bigwigs arrived, waiting for them to start giving up their hard won information. They were still making a few final adjustments after everyone took their seats in the small room. Sophia took over the main meeting area, and Athena acted as her back stop. It never was good policy to only have one person with all the information in a briefing. Someone would always wind up getting played stump the chump, no matter how well behaved the people taking the briefing might be.

Sophia gave a sly smile to the group of powerful people as they stopped moving after taking their unmarked but assigned seats. "Thank you for coming today. Let me start off by saying that, yes, all five of the systems we used recovered data on the radio or radar energy waves we detected. We, however, have not been able to read any of it. Yet. We're still working on it. That doesn't mean launching the Raptors was a waste of time. We were able to use the different locations to pick up the energy waves, just as we hoped we would be able to. Using the data we've gathered, we were able to triangulate the possible source of those energy waves we were interested in."

Sophia stopped talking, and an image showed on the big screen behind her. The star field had five different marks on the image. One was labeled "Fleet" and the other four marks were each were labeled Raptor One through Four. She hit a second button, and now long and right yellow lines flew out from each of the labels. They were heading away from the fleet at slight angles, but all going in the same general direction. If you looked closely enough, you could tell that they were closing in on the other generated lines.

"As you can see, the track is generally about five degrees off the current course or heading the Fleet had been moving along. And it heads, in this general direction away from the fleet." She used a telescoping pointer to guide the rest of the room's eyes in the direction she wanted them to look. They had not had time to make the briefing pretty.

"We used some of the data from our collective database on stellar data, to overlay the direction we think the radio waves were coming from. Then we added some of the information we have on file from the Earthers and what we got from the Arrow of Apollo. For example, we know that we are looking for a yellow class star, which is also in a single star solar system. This at least let us count out all binary and trinary star systems that are in that direction. We even have a partial light spectrum on the yellow star, from old pre-fall schoolbooks that Captain Kelly had in his collection. This means that we have been able to limit the set of targets in that direction of travel."

Lee Adama was leaning forward in his chair. He was looking at the large star chart being projected in large scale on the one wall. He was not looking at either of the women as he looked deep into the high resolution image.

"How many targets are you talking about? Where are they? How far to the closest one? Are there any hazards in the direction of travel? You know like dust fields, neutron stars, pulsars or rogue planets?"

The Colonial Fleet had known about a dozen of the different hazards that made traveling in space, much less deep space, dangerous. They went from being only very bad all the way up to the level of a living nightmare.

Athena stepped up and forward to speak to the group. "Less than a dozen possible targets right now. But as time goes on, we might have more or less targets of interest. We need more time to fully answer your question. How much time? We don't know yet. As for the target list right now?"

Athena, the onetime Cylon infiltrator, passed out a sheet of paper to each of the people taking the brief. Each of the sheets had on it a list of possible targets and a general mapping location for each. "These are the ones that we think are the best places for finding the source of the energy waves. At least that is our best guess with the limited information we have at this time."

As she was handing out the sheets, Sophia's hand dropped out sight, and with a few clicks of buttons not seen by the group sitting down, ten bright red flashing dots showed on the projected star map for the whole room to see. All of them were very close to the five yellow lines coming from the locations that the data had been collected at. The room was quiet as a tomb.

Sophia took over the meeting once again after shooting the human form Cylon a sly grin. "The nearest target we've identified. It's in this system."

Sophia used a green laser pointer to clarify which of the points of lights that should be star systems she was talking about. The solid metal pointer would have blocked some of the data on the screen, so she went with the focused light beam in green to show the area.

"It's around seventy-eight light-years from our current location." She stopped talking to let that bit of information sink in.

That raised a few eye brows from the Colonial leadership seated at the main table. Taking on a seventy-eight light-years trip into uncharted space before the Cylons attacked? That would have been considered an extreme undertaking worth a few years' worth of planning. And this would all be done before they made the first jump on the mission. Now, it was just a week's travel, if they were going in the right direction. It would not even take that much in the way of paperwork needed to be done across the whole fleet. They would just make a few log entries and note the fuel state between jumps.

The Admiral voiced his first concern. "Miss Ryan. That is not a small diversion. It's too far for me to want to send our Raptors to check it out. At least, not without support." He held up his hand, when he saw Athena's face turn an old shade of red. A shade that he had seen more than a few times before and not from Athena.

"I know about all the hard work done with the Cylon jump engines. And the modified software giving even better range at a lower fuel usage for the rest of the fleet's engines. I'm not comfortable risking lives that far out, not without at least some support within a day or two away. What if something goes wrong, and they are that far out?" Bill stopped talking, and wondered why he was explaining something like this to Athena, or any other person for that matter.

Laura was trying hard not to smile, so she did not look at her almost husband that was seated next to her. She kept her eyes locked on the two female briefers at the head of the room. "So I take it, from your tone, you have a few issues. What do you two think? Should we should launch a mission now? Or do we wait until you have more data, and then launch the mission?"

Sophia had a tight lipped look on her face. She did not say anything for a long few minutes. "If we keep heading the way we were for any length of additional time? Then each day will make the trip to the nearest target that much longer to accomplish, and more dangerous. So yes. We think it is worth the time and fuel to do the mission now. If we are going the wrong way on this target, then we would be out two weeks, maybe three, to get back near to our current course. After almost three years of traveling, that is not too much time to invest, in my book."

Lee was deep in thought at what he was hearing, but he wanted all the cards on the table. He already had an idea of what might be the best way to handle this little issue. He let a deep breath out of his nose. Then he took another deep breath and put it to better use, this time.

"Yes, only two weeks. But we are going to need to find a place to rest soon. Some of our ships are going to need major overhauls again, and I don't think we will find a place like that nebula again. I don't care how much they pray for it around the fleet."

This last statement received a round of snickering from the whole room. There had been a half a dozen reports on how most of the temples were leading the praying sessions to the gods. Asking for help finding any planet that might support them. After what they had seen, the leadership did not dismiss this effort totally out of hand. They just thought that something like this was very unlikely to be helpful.

Lee let the sound die down before he started talking again. "We need to look for the right place to put down. And we will need to be there for between six and eight months. We need to rebuild all of the ships in the fleet. If we don't, then more and more of our limited manufacturing capabilities will be going to supporting the spot fixes we keep having to do."

Lee had stopped talking, but he was only catching his breath and re-organizing his thoughts to better fit is arguments. When he noticed Sophia looking like she was about to blow her top, he rushed to finish and explain his current line of thinking.

"I'm not saying that we should not go to check on these systems that your group has identified. It's just that we need to be aware, that we might need to stop soon. Or we are going to have to shift even more of our very limited ship based manufacturing base to making parts for the ships before they start breaking down again. We don't want to be stuck somewhere in the deep black when one of the ships in the fleet has a major engine casualty or something along those lines."

Lee took another breath, and turned a little to face his father. They had talked about this before, but only in private. Lee thought that now was a good time to make it a little more public. "I say we take the chance now, while the ships are in better condition. At least compared to a later time, when we might have to work with some major issues. My one question is, do we send one Battlestar to support the scouting Raptors? Or do we take the whole fleet in one shot, but only a few short jumps behind the scouts?"

Lee was now looking directly at his father as he finished talking. He knew that he had made good points but his father was the Admiral and the fleet commander. The ball was in his court. Lee had one saving grace. If he made good points, then his father would have to make even better counterpoints if he wanted to argue against. At least in a meeting at this level.

Laura cleared her throat to get everyone's attention to her side of the table. She looked at all of the eyes that were now looking at her from around the room. She returned each of those looks with a measured and level gaze. When she had shown them that she was in her 'I am the boss of his traveling circus' mode, she addressed the group while she locked eyes with only one other member of the meeting.

"I think this is one of those topics that crosses the line between military responsibility, into civilian responsibility. Bill, we will take the whole fleet on this side trip they have found for us. How we do it? That is your business. I would suggest that when you pass out the next jump coordinates, you do not tell them that we are following a possible lead to Earth or anything like that. If you did, and it turns out to be a dead end?"

Laura looked around to the whole room. "This goes for everyone in this room, and your staffs. Morale will take a hit. Possibly on the massive side. One that might cause us to have another surge in suicides."

She did not need to remind them that they had lost almost forty people within a week of them marking two years after leaving the nebula. They still had about a two percent population growth every year since leaving the Nebula, but after word had spread about the first ten, it had seemed to snowball for weeks later. No one in this room wanted to have anything close to what might cause a repeat of those couple of months.

Bill Adama nodded his head in agreement with what the President said, and it was not because she was sitting that close to him during the meeting. He was already coming up with a barebones of a plan on how he was going to move the whole fleet to the first target system. He had started putting it together even before he had heard the last of his son's comments on the subject. That was why an Admiral had a staff, to bring up issues and ideas that one person might not think of. He looked at both Athena and Sophia with a level gaze after about half a minute of deep thought. He was about to put his rank were his mouth was.

"It's agreed Madam President. We will start working down this target list of yours. Sophia, Athena, I want one or both of you working on understanding those energy waves, and if we can get any usable information out of them. If they are radio waves, then they should have data packets. We should only need to find them. If you need anything let me know directly. Work the data as hard as you can. I am going to want updates every few days until we get to the first target. We might change that schedule after a few briefings but feel free to come to the CIC whenever you think you need to update us with some major event instead of waiting for the next meeting."

The two women nodded and said they understood their marching orders. The meeting ended a few minutes later with only a few other fine details covered. With so little time to work the data, the meeting had not been intended to take that long. The two women started showing the group some of the raw data the Raptors brought back. They pointed out some of the odd items it held.

This was more confusing to the group than helpful, so the meeting was ended thirty minutes before it was scheduled to end. This was a rare event, but it was not noticed by anyone in CIC or walking around the corridors. Every one had their hands full with the added workload caused by the checks on an aborted last second jump. A last minute halt like what happened, had been known to have caused some engine issues on the iffier of the space fleet's ships.

* * *

Bill Adama, in the end, decided not to change the jump coordinates for the next jump. Something like that might cause some questions to be asked. Ones that he did not want to cover just yet. They would start on the adjusted path on the following jump. Since none of the other ships in the fleet had the second jump coordinates yet, the delay was only going to be a few days at most to head toward the first and nearest target system.

The cover story waiting to go out to the fleet, if they were asked, was that they had found some kind of astronomical odd event they were going to investigate at some distance. It had taken some time for the news of the adjusted course to reach both the talking heads and the other members of the leadership.

Bill and Laura's staffs had to keep saying that the astronomical event was far away, and as near as they could tell not currently a threat of any kind to the Rag Tag Fleet. That little bit of information was an embarrassment to the some of the talking heads who said they were covering news. This was a very different story than what they had been peddling for a couple of days.

Adama had a very entertaining several days watching most of the talking heads backpedal out of the hole they had dug for themselves. Laura reminded him, in private one night, that he needed to make sure he did not fall into the same trap. The one that that those talking heads had done, and he was having such a fun time watching.

Soon they were down to a jump every few days. Well, closer to a week. This was due to the engine wear that was accumulating across the fleet with every jump the fleet made. One good thing came out of all these extended delays, though. They had allowed for more data to be collected by Sophia and Athena's small team. So far, the cover story had held.

The energy wave that had drawn their attention was getting more powerful with every ten to twelve light-year jump the fleet made. Unfortunately it was still not readable or even intelligible at any level, besides detection and power rating. Both Sophia and Athena were getting tired of saying the words, "nothing new to report, but the signal is getting stronger," every time they had to give an update briefing to one or all of the key leadership of the fleet.

They were two short jumps from the first target system when that nut was cracked, and when it cracked, it cracked wide open. The fleet had been in the barren solar system for almost a full day already. They were told that they would not be moving again anytime soon, due another issue on one of the other civilian ships. The name of the ship with the issue was not given out to the rest of the fleet. That had caused some issues to develop between different ships a few years ago. It would leak out after a while, but it would be at the rumor level and not the news level. While the fleet waited for the unidentified ship to make repairs, the military side of things decided this was the perfect time to do some local reconnaissance

The Admiral had decided that the two scout Raptors from the Battlestar Pegasus would not do the next mission alone. What the rest of the Fleet did not know was that the engine trouble had been carefully staged by the affected ship's commander. The Raptors would make the one long jump and one short jump to the yellow star to see what was there. They would be under full Cylon protocols for this mission, acting like it was an old scouting mission into Cylon controlled space. After all, stranger things had happened in their lives already.

The clocks were running, and tensions were high on both Battlestars' command centers. The Raptors had only been gone a few hours, and if things had gone to plan, they were only now getting ready for the last jump. The one that would take them into the first target system. The rest of the fleet had no idea what was happening.

Sophia and her group of people had taken over the starboard side pilots briefing room as their ever expanding work area gobbled up more and more space on the old warship. They were pumping all of the collected data into what had been a captured Cylon processing core. By now, it had been fixed into one of the old fuel tanks on the Lucky Find. That had happened not long after they had removed the cores containing Cylon data and software.

By now, all of the ESM systems on both the Colonial and Earther side of the ship were hooked directly into that main computer and a backup processor fix mounted in the same room. The computer had a good sized program loaded on it, and that was basically it. It would try to search for the right frequency in any of the radio and radar waves' bands. Those bands that might have been picked up by their equipment.

So far, they had found four different bands of the signals. Finding these bands was mostly thanks to the fact that some of them were from Earth at all. That way, they knew that two of those bands were called AM and FM bands of the radio waves. That is, if the energy waves were coming from Earth or an Earth that had developed like their Earth had. They were working under a lot of ifs, but it was the best lead they had in years.

The old briefing room only had room for six people with some elbow room to spare per work shift. The workers were an even mix of Earther and Colonial raised, all working on different projects, but all with the same set of core data for their project. That was, until all of a sudden, music started playing in the room, and soon filled it with sound and rhythms beating in the air. It had a bit of static and at times the static overrode the music for a few dozen seconds, but the sound was getting cleaner by the second.

Sophia started looking around to see who had brought their music playlist in to work. No one seemed to look guilty to her eyes, and each person was looking at another person, as if trying to work out the same thing she was. Now Sophia had had enough, she was stressed out and frustrated on top of that. Now was not the time to be playing silly games. She had been the XO of a warship, and she knew how to vent her temper.

"Okay. Who's the smart frakker who wanted to listen to music on their shift?"

The tone in Sophia's voice was the clue to the rest of the room that she was not finding this funny and wanted someone to chew on. And right now, anyone in the room would do very nicely for that chewing. She always felt better after being able to jump down someone's throat after a stressful day.

The other five people in the room looked at her with a 'What the frak are you talking about' look on all of their faces. Then they all started looking for the source of the static and music while at the same time making private mental bets on who was going to get the old neck chop today. It only took a few more seconds of searching before one of them just pointed to the computer. It was the one with the live data feed from the ESM being pumped through it. Everyone was stunned for what might have felt like forever but had in fact been just a few seconds. The shock wore off almost as fast as it had fallen onto them, and everyone moved as one to the powerful computer that had been rigged up there.

It was a mad rush from every corner of the little room to the side of the fix mounted computer with an attached flat screen. More than a few of them got tangled up with each other like a scene from some slapstick comedy. No one in the room knew what 'I love Rock and Roll' was, but the last bit of the song was playing loudly and clearly understandable to the whole room. Sophia plopped in the seat and started working on the keyboard, when a second song started to play on the side mounted speakers. The group spent the next few hours working on refining the computer aided filter. Every eye was locked onto the screen. No one had said a word after the offending computer had been pointed out as the source of the music. Most were hoping in their minds that this was what they had been looking for. A few were equally fearing that it was.

Sophia hit a hard bit of coding and she popped out of the seat like someone had kicked her in the ass. She did not need to say who should take the seat, the current shift's expert on writing codes automatically took the open seat. More keys were struck and by now the people standing around started to make agreeable sounds as the data all of a sudden shifted into something that was more intelligible.

Once they were done Sophia sent a message to both Captain Kelly and Admiral Adama that they needed to come by the work area because they might have found _something_. It was a simple message, prearranged not long after the second briefing she had to give to the two key leaders.

So when both men read the words they went 'Bingo'. They both dropped everything, and walked to the old briefing room from different parts of the ship. It was a horse race, seeing who would get to the converted briefing room first. They would have to do this without drawing attention to themselves by anyone they passed by in the ship's corridors. The stern looks both men had on were more than enough to clear the way for them as they walked the scarred corridors of the old warship.

* * *

While all that was happening back in the Battlestar, Racetrack, Skulls, Hot Dog and Red Devil had appeared in the first target system. The Raptors on this mission were not the modified ones with the massive handbuilt ESM systems taking up most of the open area of the craft. They did have more limited ESM systems, but they also had a heavier weapons load. And they did have a thick layer of the high tech armor covering their hides. It was a hard ceramic micro layered armor that also made them very hard to detect by any known enemy systems.

The two craft were light hours away from each other when they popped into the star system. This was so that if one ran into something mean, it would not mean the end the whole mission for the other Colonial made space bird. Or that was the hope and plan anyway.

If they had to defend themselves, each of the slab sided craft was armed with a quad pack of Colonial made lasers. They were mounted under each of the small craft's wings. Those twin weapon mounts had a high enough damage output to make even a Cylon Basestar unhappy. If it got within range of the deadly pulse laser weapons, that is. As soon as the craft jumped into this section of space, all of their spy gear started working on sucking up anything that might be useful in the local area.

The yellow or G8V star system was around mid-aged for a star of its type. It had five full sized rocky planets, and another four ice or gas giants farther out from the heat source of the star. The third and fourth planets were in the habitable zone for a star this hot, and both were about the same size of Caprica. It did not take the two small Colonial craft long to figure out that this was not the place they were looking for. It took longer for the two small craft to be sure that there were not any threats in this star system.

It would have been another amazing find for the Colonial military, had it been found back before the war. Talk about coming up sixes after throwing the dice from five thousand feet above the ground. After all these years, light-years of traveling, and death, to find what you were looking for on the first try? That would have been something worth writing about. That did not mean that finding out that this jump was a bust would not cause any issue, but it was almost a bone crushing blow to their very souls not to have found Earth or an Earth anyway.

As they worked in full stealth Raptor scout mode, one part of Racetrack's mind told her. _"At least it's not full of Cylons."_

What the crew of those two craft did not know was that this system was known to Earth and it was called Tau Ceti by the people who walked her surface. The two Raptor crews went about their business scouting the system for any threats, and to gain some basic knowledge of the local real estate. It did not take them long to work out that this system was a gold mine. At least according to the built in systems that were the same on the older versions of Raptors as what these birds were using now. The ECO's in both craft were soon about to jump out of their seats as new data about the system rolled into the displays.

The on board systems found out that both planets were capable of supporting human life. This was a very rare find. Two of the life giving planets in a single star system, even more so. Besides the stars that had made up the Colonial home systems, such had never been found in the history of the Colonial Fleet. They would know. Buried deep in one of the many different hard drives were a list of every star system and planet that the fleet had passed, along with all of the data from the Cylon and Colonial databases.

The planet closer to the star in the habitable zone was very warm, but it also had over seventy-five percent of its total surface area covered in liquid water. The fourth planet from the central star was almost as cold as New Caprica had been, but it was somewhat drier than that planet that had been found in the heart of a nebula. This star system also had a good sized asteroid belt just past the cooler of the habitable planets. It also seemed to be loaded with a lot of the items that the Colonials could put to good use.

The two craft were quiet inside their metal hulls, but the tensions were increasingly hard to keep in check. The crews had too much work to do, and not enough time to do it all in. It was a surprise to all four of the crew that the craft's built in timers went off within a single second of each other. It told the group that it was time to start the first of the series of jumps that would take them back to home base.

Not one message had been exchanged between the two craft in the hours they were in this solar system. It was an old adage among Colonial sensor operators that everything and more importantly anyone that transmits can be spotted by someone else. Particularly if they were looking in the right place at the wrong time. So they had been working under communications silence mode, and they had so far encountered no reason to break it. They would be maintaining it until at least after the second of the three planned upcoming jumps.

The interstellar jumps they were going to be taking would be different from the route the two craft had taken to get to this place. It was a precaution, just on the off chance someone was watching or maybe even following the two hard to detect craft. After they made those jumps and made sure that no one was following them, then they would return to the same location as the heavy back up to the small craft. Her name was the Pegasus, and she was a Battlestar.

Taking the second jump so quickly after the first interstellar move was very jarring to the crews of the Raptors. It also placed the two Raptors only a few kilometers apart from each other. In space that was like being in someone's hip pocket, or looking up their hairy bugger filled nose. However, this did make it so at the two craft were able to communicate with each other with only a slight risk of a third party knowing about it. It's just too bad that for every silver lining, you have to have a cloud. The closeness of the arrival point had so... not been planned that way. It had just worked out that way, due to some last second math.

Red Devil flipped the cover switched to activate the tightbeam communication system. His finger was moving as soon as his DRADIS picked up the second Raptor, and displayed the data on one of his screens. When his device said that it was powered up, he pushed the transmit key.

"Hey Racetrack. What do you think about the target?" Red Devil was fighting to keep his voice as level and as devoid of emotion as he could.

It took a few seconds for Racetrack to get back to him with a reply that would not peal paint. Racetrack had a routine that she did after every jump without fail. That is, if someone was not shooting at her after she had just jumped. It was a luck thing, and you could never have enough luck in her humble opinion. She had started doing it not long before she had found that planet hidden in the nebula. Some might not have called that lucky. Racetrack did, because of the humans they had found there to kill all of those Cylons off. Margaret thought that was lucky. When she came to a stopping point, she replied to the question.

"It's not what the Old Man was looking for, but it's not too bad of a place. The third planet looked like it might have some nice beach areas and a lot of them. I just hope that the brain trust can find something useful in the data we collected. The axial tilt was almost zero."

Racetrack was thinking about some missions that she had gotten to do. "Maybe we can rig it so that we have to come back. You know, so that we can do a closer scan. To make sure that we didn't miss something on this quick little snoop and poop. I could use the flight time. How long until your cooldown's done?" Racetrack might be a bit chatty, but she could also get down to business at the drop of a hat.

Red Devil checked one of his readouts. It was one with a counter working its way down with red numbers. He did some math in his head and then checked it with another readout not far from his seat before answering the question.

"Seven minutes thirty seconds until I'm in the approved jump drive temperature. Yeah, I would not mind coming back to get a closer look. That is if the Old Man is okay with it. I bet that it would be frakking awesome to put my feet onto some warm, wet beach sand."

Very few people would challenge anything that Admiral Adama said. More than a few of them were worried every time someone brought up the age of the man and that one day, he was going to have to give up fleet command. More than a few people had nightmares about what would happen if the Old Man had to be replaced.

Racetrack nodded in her helmet, but not enough to move the device mounted to her pressure suit. "Same here. See you back at base."

She cut the line, and went back to doing her flight checks before they had to make the final jump that would take them back to the Pegasus. Then they would make another fast jump to the rest of the fleet. The Beast would stay in that location until it was sure that no one was following the Raptors. That should only take ten to fifteen minutes after the pair of scouting Raptors had made the final jump.

Before they made that last set of jumps they made sure to do a scan of the local area. It was just to make sure there were not any surprises that could follow them back to the last of their people. As it turned out, the Raptors were lucky and this was an empty section of space. As empty as it looked to both their eyes and their electronic systems. With no threats detected they jumped back to the fleet with all the data they had risked their lives to collect for those in command.

Once the two military scout craft had finished up their scouting mission and the largest Battlestar had also returned to the fleet, the two military leaders, along with the President of the civilian population, met together on Colonial One. Currently her ship was sitting in the massive and only functional flight pod the old Battlestar still had.

The ship called Colonial One was having a key engine part replaced, an operation that was easier to accomplish in the environment provided by the hangar bay. If there had not been room or time, a crew of wrench turners would be in spacesuits doing the repairs in freefall. So it was there that three people were being briefed on the findings so far.

Lee could not come up with a viable reason to rocket off to the flagship on short notice, so he would have to be briefed in on what happened later. This was not making him a very happy camper at all. He knew the passwords to get at the data if he wanted to get a raw look at the brief. What he did not know was that when he did, he was going to have his socks knocked off.

Athena had come running into the work area as soon as she was told about the unknown music playing. She would be the lead briefer this time. It had been worked out early on that the two of them would take turns briefing the leadership. They did not want any later review to have the impression that only one group or the other was taking over the project as a whole. The women did not have time to have a formal brief completed about what had happened, so they did not have any visual aids to put up. She was just going to have to pretty much wing it in front of the key power players in the fleet.

Athena smiled at the group as they took their seats in the small briefing room. She still had issues with the female President because of what she had ordered done to her and her child but she was in a very good mood right now and it did not cross her mind at all today. She could feel her heart beating like a Viper being launched out a tube.

"Thank you all for coming so fast. We have been able to decode and filter out the radio waves that we have been picking up. So far in the last few hours, we have been able to separate an even dozen different sources of segregated data streams."

Athena stopped talking and looked around to gauge the faces of those in the room. She was wondering if they would understand what she had said. She had purposely chosen those terms in the limited time she had to prepare for this meeting. After a few seconds she started talking again.

"Most of those sources, we think, are for entertainment purposes in nature. We have found, so far, three of the sources that are in English or close enough in vocabulary for us to make out what they are saying. These also happen to be information or news based. We have two sources that are based on some form of Spanish. We're still working on determining what they're focused on. Same for the one German station that we've found so far."

Athena folded her hand in front of her. "The rest of the sources are in languages that we have no clue of but our team is still working on them as we speak. We've only had a few hours to work on the data, but we've collected a frakton of it already." Athena was beaming with joy as she finished her statement.

Laura was about to explode, and looked to be visibly shaking in her chair. When she did open her mouth, she let it go a little louder than she normally would have when she wanted to speak. At least in this small of a metal walled room.

"So you have found Earth!" It was a statement, and not a question she gave to the human form Cylon.

Athena looked at her like she was crazy or on some kind of drug. One that only the most liberal of doctors would have given out. She gave the civilian leader a level look, and fought to keep her own voice calm.

"We might have found an Earth. We have no idea if that's what it's called by the people living on it. Or if it is the Thirteenth Colony we've been looking for or something else. We only have a small sample of data."

Sophia passed Athena a note but she did not need it. She did take the time to look at it, and read it before she continued. "One of the items we have found out from the information feeds is that they're talking about a small war that is going on the planet. They're calling it the Falklands War, and they say it's one of the key events of nineteen-eighty-two. We have no idea what any of it means and how it could affect us. We have no context to put the words together and have a clear meaning of the larger picture on a planetary scale."

Athena could tell that the other woman was not getting the significance of that bit of information. Now she was fighting to keep her tone level and without any scorn coloring it. They had busted their asses to get this much usable information in such a short time. It was not like they had a magic wand to wave around so that it would tell them every little possible detail.

"What we know about one of the Earths is primarily from Rift Earth's people, as told to them by the dragon Plato. The Multidimensional Rifts stared wreaking havoc on their Earth on or about the twenty-first of December in the year twenty-ninety-eight. We also know that the Dark Age this event caused lasted over two hundred years. And that Captain Kelly's people was Rifted to New Caprica in the year one-ten PA or post apocalypse, again from their Earth."

Athena took another deep breath. "The time before these energy rifts is simply grouped into one era they called _The Golden Age_. We know that radio waves move at the speed of light, so we have only these two confirmed data points."

Athena looked around the small room again. "One, is that the Earth that is the source of these waves is about five hundred light years away, or possibly closer than that. Unless time is different in this universe than say, compared to the one that Captain Kelly and his people came from."

When the words fell out of Athena's mouth, and reached her own ears. All she could do was to stop talking and blink her eyes. Did she really just say what she had just said? Who would have thought that she would be talking about different planets and different possible timelines, for a group of humans that she was working with? It was something that you could only do if you were in a crazy world or in a padded cell.

Adama was deep in thought, and drumming his fingers on the table top in a steady rhythm. _"Who would have thought, that one of his officers would be quoting a talking Dragon? While they were referring to the possibilities of multiple universes, all with different humans in each of those universes? It is a strange life I'm in, and the gods only know what else is going to come at them down the road."_ Bill was trying keep his face very still, as he let those thoughts run through his mind.

Bill looked over at Captain Kelly, after stopping his drumming on the table top. "How much information do you have about this year nineteen-eight-two or that era from your Earth?"

Kelly tilted his head to one side, and he looked at the metal covered ceiling. He was trying to remember all of the studying from before his last Rifting, and what little limited information they had brought with them. He had reviewed it from time to time but nothing came to mind that could answer the Admiral's question.

"Bill, we had very little information for any time that was before, during, and after the Rifts hit my planet. A lot of what is known is sometimes called stories. I will have to re-look at some of the books in my collection but I would bet we don't have more than two or three hundred pages of information about all of the time before the Rifts. So I don't know exactly how much help it will be." Kelly had a sour expression on his face. They did call the time before he was born _The Dark Ages_ for a reason.

Bill Adama turned from the other officer, but looked at the Cylon. "That is a good point. Are you recording all of the transmissions?"

Athena and Sophia both screwed up their faces, but it was Athena who answered with one word. "Yes."

The tone that she used, said, _"What do you think we are, dumb?"_ But she did not say anything other than that one word.

Bill bit his lower lip and his brows furrowed. He was working a problem, but he could not see anything close to any of the answers that he needed. When he thought that he was ready, he looked over to Laura and when she gave him a nod, Bill turned in his chair to look at the two female briefers.

"We are going to need a lot more information. I want every news program or information feed recorded and I want them looked at for any information which could possibly be useful now or in the near future. Now I'm going to bet that if they're anything like our news people, not everything that comes out of their mouths will end up being true facts. I want it all put in a searchable database somehow. I also want you to get a copy of all of the data that was picked up by the two Raptors today. That is going to be the standing order. As we get closer to the source of the radio waves, we should have more information, right?" Bill was hoping that he was right with that assumption. If not he was in for a world of trouble.

Bill gave Kelly a sly smile that reached his eyes. "And as Captain Kelly is fond of telling me, information is power. The more information we have, the more power we will have when and if we make contact." Bill did not say contact with humans. It was another of the assumptions the Colonials were going to have.

Athena was stunned. She had not even thought about making a searchable database of the information that they were collecting. It was going to be a massive task, and that did not even cover the part of making it searchable. As she put some of her brain power into the idea, it was going to be a massive task on the computers. Computers were something the Cylons knew a lot about, both the building and code to make them work as needed.

It was Sophia who was first off the mark to put any words to the orders. "Sir, I don't have enough people to do anything like that. We might be able to cover the few channels we have translated now, but we will get more data sources working and as we get closer, there might be more data mass per source. I'm going to have to bring more people in on this. I'm also going to need more equipment of all kinds. That's going to draw attention from a lot of different places. Some of that attention might cause blowback."

Bill had not thought about that part of his plan, but it could not be helped. He was quiet again as he worked out how bad it could turn out. After a few seconds, he just shook his head from side to side. He was about to get the worst of both worlds.

"Keep it in-house, for now. Do you think you can keep it quiet? At least until we get the fleet to the target system?" He looked around the room and tried to gauge the looks he was seeing. If he could have something to distract some of those eyes, that could buy him some more time for his people to get more and maybe very important information before things went off the rails.

Laura looked at Bill with some concern clearly visible on her face. They had talked about having to let the fleet know about the signals, but they had not come up with a timeline or anything for this release. The three leaders knew that the longer they withheld the information, the more and stronger the blowback that would fly all over them.

"Bill, are you sure that's wise or close to the right time?"

Bill looked around the room. "We have two checkpoints. The first is if our scouts say that the target or the next one is the right one, and there are humans living on it. Then we can take the time sitting right here until we can come up with a plan that works for our people. The other checkpoint is that our scouts have come back. The draft report is that the first system is empty but seems to be safe or reasonably close. If we move to this new system, it would get us closer to our end target and give us new information."

Bill stopped talking to look around the room. "And maybe we can stay there for some time. At least while we scout out the local area in a way that will give us more detailed information. Yes, I think we might have to let the rest of the fleet know sooner rather than later about what we've found. Laura, if we hold on to the information too long, we will have some impressive blowback when it does get out. We know that we are not talking about some maybe random noise that we are picking up. We are picking up voices, which are understandable in a few languages. That is going to be looked at a lot differently. This is not a military decision, but it is my recommendation that as soon as we know that they are humans, then it might be time to let the cat out of the barn."

Laura nodded in agreement. She had trained him well when it came to looking closer at the political side of things. Now it looked like the student might become the teacher in the not too distant future.

"Okay, but it does not get out to the whole fleet until I say so." Laura had just put her foot down. She would be the one to release this information and no one else.

She looked around the room to make eye contact with each person. "Do I make myself clear? The ones that still have a more religious bent have lost a lot of power in the fleet, but we don't want to feed that fire. Not again, anyway. We will just have to see what the scouts find out in the way of hard data."

She was not putting this down in writing, having a few plans already thought out in some detail. That was how you got the reputation of coming up with the perfect idea seemingly out of thin air, and at the perfect time. That was something she had learned from one Bill Adama.

Bill and Kelly could sense that the information part of the brief was over. It was a well-developed sixth sense, and given their years in the military, by now that sense had been honed to a razor sharp point. The two men started to rise at the same time, but Bill was the one to speak before completely clearing the chair.

"I think that I will wait in CIC, for our second look scouts to have the data pulled and looked at. Let's plan to have another meeting then. I think we all need to be available for that one." All heads in the room nodded their heads to say in agreement, and the subordinates knew that this was an order.

Bill could tell from the looks coming from around the room that they agreed with him. They did not have to say a word. The two ships commanders went to the brain center of the old warship, and in turn for the whole little fleet. The President went back to her office in her ship, in the only hangar bay the Battlestar had left. She could have walked with the military leaders into the flagship's CIC. She had been there many times, but you had to keep the military and civilian sides separated on some topics and she felt this was one of those times. No matter how much she wanted to spend time with Bill.

Bill and Saul had just finished the latest update brief, when the Radar/DRADIS operator sang out to alert the rest of the room. "Contact! Two contacts, both at seventy-six by one-four-five. On time and on target for the second scouting mission! Authenticating IFF."

It was only a few seconds, but everyone was watching and waiting. Some with one hand very close to the alert buttons that would send the fleet into both flight and fight mode. People were literally holding their breaths as they waited for them to react. Then a voice from across the room allowed those lungs to start working again.

"Sir! IFF has been authenticated, and they've responded to the challenge and password. They're ours!"

Bill looked relieved but only to those who knew him well enough. Few would have noticed his shoulder shifting a few millimeters to show it. He passed along his orders to the staff.

"Good. Tell them to land on the flag's hangar, and report directly to Athena." He did not have to tell them to pull the removable hard drives to take with them.

The challenge and password system had been standard operating procedure in the Colonial Fleet for decades. Warship commanders always had predetermined answers and code phrases for situations like these. These warned off others if they were under duress or hostile control. If they needed assistance, certain code phrases could also be used to let others know. It was pretty extensive and it turned out the Earthers had a similar system.

At first the system was only in place for military craft. Eventually, in the wake of the Olympic Carrier incident, the system was also implemented on the civilian ships in the fleet as well. Granted, no one was sure such a system could have saved the Olympic Carrier. The Olympic Carrier had been ignoring instructions to stop approaching the fleet, up to and including a warning shot across her bow. The consensus to this day was that it had been taken over by Cylons.

That did not mean there was no longer any sort of friction or what ifs when people got bored, drunk or both. Now, before every jump, a challenge word and a password were given to each ship making the jump. It took a little longer to get all of the different randomly selected words, to each of the ships of the Rag Tag Fleet. Verifying after completion of a fleet wide interstellar move of a few light-years could similarly take a while. It was faster when you were only dealing with a couple of Raptors back from a short mission.

For these last two scouts, it was a lot quicker, without any noticeable delay. There were very few pilots still breathing who liked it when a capital ship put its targeting systems on their much smaller craft. Stuff could just happen in the real world. It was the law of averages and when you were on the wrong side of those, you had a tendency to have a case of the stopped breathings.

Felix put his finger in his ear. It cut down on the noise coming from the rest of the CIC. It did look a little funny though, even to the rest of the staff, but it kept conversations private. The only giveaways were the look on his face, and the slightly moving motion of his head.

"Sir, Racetrack wants to talk to you." Felix pointed to the handset resting on its cradle near the main plotting table. His face had a confused look that was not normal for him.

Bill picked up the phone without needing to give notice or tell Felix to make sure it was a very private chat he was about to have. "Racetrack. This is Galactica Actual. What did you find out there this time?" He was using a normally voice, but it still did not carry that far from the Admiral's current standing location.

It was hard to hear, but he could still tell who was talking on the line, even if he had not been told who it might be. "Sir, we found the system after our first run, but it's definitely empty of anything high tech or threatening. We have confirmed that it does have two Caprican sized planets in the life zone. We could see signs of life on both planets' surface, but not any signs of built up areas of any kind. Do you still want us to put down on the flagship, or head back for another look? We are good for some ground time, Sir." Racetrack was hoping very hard for that change of mission. She had been surprised at being sent on the second look as soon as they could do their first data dump.

Bill did some quick thinking, and after a delay of only a few seconds, his trademark voice came back over the distance to the speakers in the four helmets that occupied the two small craft. "Take them back to the barn. And have them review and crunch the data you got for them. I want your two teams available for any questions and help they may require. I will contact Pegasus Actual and let him know that I want a full command briefing today on your data pull. Good job, and don't dent the deck this time Racetrack."

Bill put the phone back into its cradle and leaned forward, so that he could tell his XO about what the Raptor pilot had told him. It was going to be a long few days until he was ready to jump the rest of fleet again. Bill went to his private computer, and sent a change of plans out to the key leaders of the fleet in one small batch. He sent one message to one group, and a second message to the group address that held all of the other ships' captains as one block. Finding two possible life supporting planets was a game changer. There was no way that they could have planned for the scouts to find anything like that.

* * *

In the end, the meeting had to be pushed back by three days. It was time well spent for one group in the fleet. Sophia and her team recorded all the data that their systems were picking up. With some help from some of the Earthers they were able to set up both a database and a search algorithm to better pull the data off of those systems. By some twist of fate, the contingent from Rifts Earth had included some truly skilled computer programmers. At least, they were far better suited to the nuts and bolts of putting software together from the ground up as opposed to the more instinctive skill the former Cylon POW's possessed.

They did not have the racial memory of computers attacking them to work through before they went to work each day or have those flashbacks while they worked. The Cylons were putting the fine touches on the computer stuff, and the Colonials were working the training issues that might come up at the oddest of times. Each group was playing to their own strengths, and after three years in space, they were working pretty well together.

When the fleet did make its next jump, the computers vacuumed up every bit of data coming in on the radio wavelengths and recorded every bit off for any future need. It was during this week long stop that Sophia and Athena put out their first job notice. It was for fifteen people who wanted to work on three different shifts and have no issues working with computers.

The database that had been thrown together was still very spotty by the time the fleet made its jump to the star system called Tau Ceti by the people from Earth. Unfortunately, Sophia and her team did not notice right away one major issue. The number and variety of types of data transmissions that they were picking up increased at this new location. The missed data types were just going into the old Cylon processors when they made the final jump that landed the fleet in the system that had only been called Target One. The news about this odd system had been kept quiet right up until the ships started popping into this part of the galaxy.

Bill Adama was watching his crew and fleet operate in this amazing system. It was only the third system they had found or, more to the point, stopped in all of this time. At least one which could possible support human life or just life for that matter in the whole three years they had been on this leg of the long run from the Cylons or known Cylon space. The planets that could support human life in the area of space that Bill and his people had been from were now all just as barren as these life supporting worlds.

Finding this system was a great time to test, and modify, or freshly develop a few new procedures for the fleet. Bill was also watching the live news feed on one of the newer displays mounted in the CIC. The fleet wide information network had changed the way news flowed throughout the fleet, and for once Bill agreed with it.

Bill thought it would be a good idea that the CIC knew what might be brewing in the fleet, as well as what was going on outside of it. You never knew what might be helpful. These reports and interview shows sometimes came up with good ideas, or found internal stress issues. All before they made it all the way up to him to be noticed and addressed. Usually, by the time something like that happened, it had already turned ugly for a lot of people.

The communication handset beside Bill gave a soft ring, just loud enough for the people standing around the central table to hear. Only a handful of people in the whole fleet had direct access to that device from outside of this room. So when he picked up the device, he did not say anything. As he heard the static crackle through the small speaker, he let the carrier wave do the talking for him. After a split second of static, a voice came to the Admiral's ear clear as day.

"Adama, its Kelly. I'm down here with Athena and her crew. They've been able to decode and display some video images."

Bill was finding it hard to breathe as the man on the other end of the phone continued talking. "We now have signs of about two hundred different stations we're picking up on this jury-rigged equipment. There's a holy hell of a mix of different languages, including Greek."

Kelly stopped talking, and waited from some kind of response from Bill Adama. He could not tell if the Admiral was on the other end or not, but soon he went with his gut when the silence went on to long.

"They're humans, Bill. We have the images playing on one of the screens down here now. You're not going to be able to delay it any more. You better call Roslin and let her know. It's going to explode all over you in a few hours at best." Kelly knew that this information was too good to expect everyone to keep their mouths shut for more than a minute after they got off shift.

Bill thought a stranger was talking when he heard someone else speak. He did not realize that it was his voice until the last word left his mouth. "Thank you, Kelly. I will let the President know."

Bill put the handset back into is cradle. Roslin was in his cabin, so after passing command of the Fleet to Saul, he went to talk to her in person. This was something that he felt that he had to do face to face. On the plus side, it gave him time to think as he made the short walk to his cabin. He had been hoping that the idea of a system with two planets that were life supporting would keep everyone looking that way for a few weeks. He was really hoping that it would last maybe even a month of peace and quiet.

 _"Looks like that is so not going to happen,"_ thought Bill as the hatch to the CIC closed behind him on silent hinges.

Bill was gone from the CIC a total of two hours. When he returned, he did not let on what he had been doing to anyone on his staff. Every time Saul would drop a none too subtle hint to find out what Bill had been up to while he was gone, he would just give his oldest friend a grin and wave the other man off to delay any follow on questions.

Bill kept looking at his watch, and he was trying to be sly about it. He kept doing so every few minutes. Until it was almost the time he had been waiting for. He was fighting not to keep looking at the talking heads on the news broadcast but the volume was currently muted. So the movement and shifting lights kept drawing his eyes toward it like a moth to a flame. No one even noticed when he picked up the remote device and started pushing buttons on the black plastic device. The flagship was currently helping with the scouting that was taking place in this new solar system. The other battlestar was keeping its eyes on the rest of the civilian fleet.

Almost everyone in the CIC, jumped out of their skins when a voice came booming out of the high mounted display device. The sound was at what seemed like ear bleeding volume as it cut through the noise of the CIC like a knife through butter.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the Colonies of Kobol!"

It had the effect that Bill had wanted. Every set of eyes in the command center snapped to the screen as Laura took the podium in front of the cameras. She took only a handful of seconds to finish getting her notes ready while the cameras focused on her. It had the effect of letting everyone know that something important was about to be brought up. That was because she very rarely used note cards in all of the years she had been in that job. Having the note cards had been Tory's idea, and as usual, it worked like a charm.

"To the Fleet. I have some amazing news to tell you today. First, we have found not only one, but two life supporting worlds in this system, and we are testing to see if they will support human life or not. We are going to be stopping here for a while if the planets do prove that they are safe to walk on, but we will be stopping only if we can do so without needing any environmental gear. I am also sorry to say that we can't stay here forever."

She stopped talking and took a drink of water before she continued. "As some of you know. We have been following something with the help of our Earther friends. They are a set of strange energy waves our systems had detected. The whole group of waves are called radio waves by the Earthers and it has been their main means of communicating amongst themselves for a long time. Radio waves are a lot different way to do this, than what the Colonials and Cylons have been using for a long time. That was one of the reasons that we could plan the battles on New Caprica so carefully. Because the Cylons did not know about them, and were not looking for them to figure out what was going on around them."

Laura had just released information that had only been hinted at in a few deep military reports. It was a pretty closely held bit of information. Bill had not wanted to confirm this information to the general public, but Kelly had convinced him that it was not a showstopper any more. This little bit of confirmed information would get about half of the population that was watching distracted. She had to keep the smile off of her face, when she took a second sip of water to draw out the dead air. When it had reached the limit she had preplanned, she started talking again.

"We had no idea if it is what we would call the Thirteenth Tribe or not, so let's get that out of the way first off. I know that some among us see these possible habitable planets and think we can just stay here and forget about the Cylons. I will not fall into the trap of New Caprica again. As we have found out time, and again, we do not have enough people to take the battle back to the Cylons at this time. We need to find others, and this is our best bet to find them. At least it is the best bet, so far. While we are stopping, are we are going to be making needed major ship repairs? At this time we do not have enough information to decide on that one just yet." Laura gave the camera a level gaze for about ten heartbeats.

"I have directed Admiral Adama to acquire and process as much information as we can from these signals that we are picking up so far. As well as all of the new incoming data. I have given him the go ahead to use whatever assets he might need to help track down the source of these energy waves. As more information is gathered, it will be put on the fleet network for everyone to see. There will be the shortest possible delay between collection and posting a copy of the raw data."

This time when she paused, it was a little longer one than was normal for her. She just looked right into the cameras for a few seconds. "I want to be as open as we can, with all of the information we find on this subject."

She knew that this would be marked into both the good and the bad categories. "I want to encourage anyone who wants to help, to look up the fleet network for a list of currently active job postings. We still have a ways to go, my friends, but it seems that we are on the right track. We have to keep the faith, and our courage to finish what we started so long ago. Thank you for your time."

Laura did not want to talk long, and she did not take any questions from the members of the press pool. She wanted to give people a chance to hit the fleet information network, and see what was going on for themselves. She was hoping that this would help fight the drive that had given them New Caprica and Baltar as their elected political leader. She only had a little over a year before the next elections.

The image went dark on the screen, and after a few long seconds, in another flash of colored light, the talking heads were back on the screen. Bill could tell that they were not ready to be put back on a live transmission across the fleet. That was because they were still looking down at their notes when their images were broadcast around the fleet.

It would seem that Laura's staff had forgotten to send over a copy of her speech to them until she was almost done giving her speech to the whole fleet. Bill just smiled. It was always good to stump the talking heads from time to time, in his book. When he turned around to face the CIC. He already knew what was going to happen. So he went into full Admiral mode as soon as turned to face them.

"Okay people. You heard the lady. We stick to the plan on testing the planet for any biologic threats or other issues. Mr. Gaeta I want two Raptors on standby for Sophia and Athena's Earth search team to use at all times. If they need more craft, you know the four people who can authorize more support. You can contact them at any time day, or night."

He stopped talking, and scanned the room with hard eyes. "Anyone who wants to help them can do so. As long as it will not interfere with their shift work, or the XO will take care of you. If that does not work, then I will deal with you." Bill's tone was ice cold, now.

That was a low blow…..but it worked as Bill knew it would. Saul Tigh still had a reputation for being a hard nosed frakker. Now he could just chalk it up to being one of the original Cylons, and being old as frakking dirt. No one could say a word to counter this theory. Starbuck had tried, but even her sharp wit came up short every time she had tried. Bill and Lee both had marked those few days on the calendar before she gave up. It was not every day that someone could found a way to stump her, her wit or her tongue.

* * *

The next week was a very busy week for the people of the entire fleet be they Colonial civilian, Colonial Fleet personnel, Rift Earther or even rehabilitated Cylon POWs. Everyone that wanted to was working double shifts. That is, if not more. The explorer team was centered on John and June Stapp. The whole group complete with a half a dozen exploration type manned robots landed on one of the planets. They started the testing as soon as their machines' feet touched the planet's surface. They were starting on the colder of the two planets first. They had been selected because they were the only ones who had real life experience testing an unfamiliar ecology for safety.

They even did the job of testing those planets without charging a fee. They did it just to get out of the metal hulled ships for any extended length of time. Bill and Kelly had a side bet going that the pair of them would have paid the Colonial Government just so that they could get back into open skies that a planet could give them.

The first reports were a hard let down for the whole fleet. Humans could not metabolize the plant and animal life of that world. So far, the tested plant and animals had not proven to be poisonous to humans if they were eaten. They just had left hand twisting proteins, and the human body would not get any life supporting calories from those items if they were ingested. It was the exact definition of what empty calories were.

It was hard for some of the Colonials to come to grips with the reality that the Earthers, who did not have any space traveling technology, had more experience on this subject than the space faring Colonials did. It did make a certain amount of sense, though. Colonial expansion had ground to a halt after the Cylon War, whereas the Earthers were still in the process of finding out which parts of their planet were habitable and which ones were not. The amount of hardware the Earthers could bring to bear made for a convincing argument by itself.

Most of the work on both planets would be done by that small group. That did not mean that their results and tests were not rerun by the limited scientific and medical staff still on the ships. It was the Earthers though, with some help from the more flexibly minded Colonials, who collected the samples in the first place. Even when each test produced the same results as the Earth tests had, it did not help smooth over the bruised Colonial ego.

At the outskirts of the solar system the mining ships surveyed the local area and started right away pulling out the ores from any handy small orbiting bodies. These recovered ores were then passed off to the manufacturing ships. All so that they could start building the long list of replacement parts that were already on order. It was all more work for those ships' crews and a growing list of other people within the Rag Tag Fleet.

The scouting ships were systematic as they started from one part of the star system and proceeded to another. They worked their way around the yellow star at a slow but very steady pace. Even the orbiting bodies they were not actively mining were looked at. These bodies were marked and the data updated on the navigation charts of the flagship. Most of the locations of the dangerous orbiting bodies, the ones in erratic orbits, were passed directly to the other ships that made up the fleet of human ships.

This solar system had a lot of the heavier elements the Colonials needed to support their building programs. It was also rich in those items that would fall more into the trade item category for the spacefaring people. However the one very important item that they needed was not to be found in this system. There was no tylium ore that they could refine for fuel to power their ships and ninety-five percent of the fleet's remaining tools. None of the ore that Colonial society was solely based around.

The unavailability of that ore was not that much of a problem yet for the Fleet. Their ships' fuel tanks had been filled to capacity and then some only a few months before they stopped in this system. Add in the upgrades made by the Cylons to the navigational computers and jump drives on all of the ships of the fleet and they should be able to go for almost another year before running out.

The final load of work that needed to be done by the humans in the fleet was not on any of the two planets' surfaces, or even in orbit around the yellow star. It was work that was needed to be done in the deep dark of uncharted space that was still around the Rag Tag Fleet. This was being worked on, and it could only be done by a very small and select crew and through the skill set of the Colonials and Colonial Fleet. Each of the nearby stars had a pair of Raptors assigned to scout them. They were collecting as much data as those craft could pull while they were scouting and mapping out those systems. The locations had been worked out by both of the Battlestars and then passed on to the small craft crews to do the hard work.

This was a time consuming project to complete. They only had four Raptors fitted out with full up handbuilt ESM systems and they were having problems making more with the spare parts that they had on hand. Most of these the electronics ship was not able to make. At least not in any speed or quantity. They were not going to get any more beyond emergency spare parts as the limited production was shifted to producing parts for the rest of the fleet.

One Raptor had been in the maintenance shops of the old Battlestar for days, unable to help until it was repaired and flight tested. That left only one backup ship on standby each day, in case of another breakdown or other emergency. The Admiral's staff was putting in a list of additional parts to make a fifth and sixth ESM set but they just did not have the extra capacity for the prototype system on top of making the spare parts they needed. If something happened to the last of the ESM Raptors then they could be bumped up the queue, but only then. Even a fleet admiral had a limit to his power.

They had too many requirements and not enough infrastructure to do all of the needed jobs again. Now it was just a waiting game. At least until those lines were not needed to keep the many ships of the fleet viable enough to keep the humans inside the thin metal hulls safe and very much alive. When they were alone, Bill confided to Laura that he should have pushed for production of those ESM systems a lot earlier than he had. It was just that he thought four would be enough for the job they had been designed to support. He had badly misjudged when they would be needed the most.

Each of the Raptor's ESM systems would also be recording data that the built in DRADIS system was able to collect on their missions. When the pair of craft returned after being gone for up to eight hours, the data would be transferred to the two warships in the fleet. The DRADIS data was copied and then sent to the Pegasus where the newer systems and larger crew could do the necessary work. They were the best choice to process that amount of data, and it was a type of data that they were used to dealing with.

The ESM data was also sent to Athena and Sophia's rapidly growing team living and working on the fleet flagship. The database was growing by reams of data every day, and more likely every shift added a significant amount of data. The scouting mission also helped them refine the next target on the list of possible places where the inhabited planet they were looking for might be. It just cost them time and some fuel, and not that much fuel due to the small size of the scouting craft. Well, that and wear and tear on those four craft.


	17. Chapter 17 One Step Closer

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 17 One Step Closer**

Tau Ceti, 6 Years After the Fall of the Colonies

7 years 8 months AT 36 months after Leaving the Nebula.

After only three weeks of very hard and grueling work, an emergency meeting was called for the key members of the leadership of the fleet. The location for the meeting this time was a room on the Lucky Find. Sophia's teams now occupied the ship's old briefing room and a nearby large and now empty fuel tank turned water tank turned office space.

The old briefing room had just not been large enough. The old fuel tank was not designed as a work space, but it did have nice high walls. Walls that let them put up huge maps all over one side of the old fuel tank. Sophia saw the room while looking for a place to move her team to. She knew at first glance that this room was going to be perfect for the mission she was currently working on.

The lower center part of the map on the wall had the local star right at eye level for the person conducting the briefing. Radiating out from that central point, each star was marked on the dark background with a series of letters and numbers the Colonial survey teams had assigned as names or identifiers. Each also had a short list of details in a short hand code about each system. There was a legend over at the side to explain the simpler codes, but most pointed to the database for the more detailed information reported about that system. The data could be easily looked up that way.

Athena was about to vibrate out of her skin as she and Sophia waited for the rest of the small circle of movers with access to their project. The ones that were on the way to hear what they had to say today. Both women got more excited as they heard the steps echoing off the metal walls, getting closer and closer to the area where they had chosen to do the briefing today.

Sophia smiled an almost goofy smile as the line of leaders started entering the room. They took seats seemingly at random with very little small talk spoken between them. She waited as they took their seats and got comfortable. As she watched the last of the leaders take his seat, she for some reason thought about her son.

Her son had always been kind of a letdown, and it had not gotten better after they arrived at that planet. Things started to turn around after he met a Colonial woman. For some reason that very few people could understand, she loved him. They married and he started working as a vocational teacher. He seemed to have finally found his place in life. The great part was that he loved the work, and they were expecting their second child in a few months. She had never been able to picture him as a family man. Now, it seemed like it had been that way all along.

Athena saw that Sophia was daydreaming and gave her a soft kick under the desk. This brought Sophia back to the world, and she shot the Cylon a thank you nod. She then turned and looked back at the gathered power players. They had stopped moving and had been looking her way. She took another breath and centered herself.

"Thank you all for coming down today."

Her smile grew bigger as she got back to the swing of the briefing she was about to give. Now it was time for her to drop her bomb on them. She just could not hold it back another second. She felt the corners of her mouth try to reach her eyeballs, and then it was out in a rush of words.

"We've found one of the Southern Pointers!"

She could not help herself, and blurted it out to every one in the room at almost a full on shout. She had a whole plan laid out on how to explain what they had found already prepared, but somehow she just jumped to the end of what she wanted to say. The daydreaming might have thrown her off of her game plan. Just a little bit.

Her words were like throwing blood in the ocean for some members in the group. Captain Kelly and Bob Nicholson about came out of their chairs. It was like they had been shocked or kicked in the seat of their pants very hard. Both started talking at the same time at escalating volumes, their voices overriding the others' in the room. So much so that it was just not understandable by anyone in the room. What they finally were able to get out, somewhat coherently, was... "Which one? Are you sure?"

The pair of Earthers were getting themselves back under some kind of mental control but their eyes were still about to bug out of their eye sockets.

Bill and Laura had no idea what the Earthers were getting so excited about, but the two Earthers had very seldom been seen this way in any meeting that the pair of Colonials could remember. Bill spoke first, even if it put him in a less powerful position. He was very worried about what he was seeing. Maybe because he could not figure out why they were acting like this.

"What are these Southern Pointers? And why is it so important, Kelly?" Bill did not look at the two woman briefers when he spoke. He looked instead at the two men from Earth whom he had worked with so closely with for the last three years.

Kelly was almost hyperventilating, but returned to his seat and Bob soon also took his seat beside him. The pause let him get his breathing and mind back under control. "Bill, Laura. She is actually talking about two stars. One is Alpha Centauri, and the other is Beta Centauri."

Bill noted that some of the words were in Ancient Kobolian or what they had discovered the Earthers to call Greek. It was another oddity from the Earthers they had had not choice but just get used to over the years. That subject had been on some of the most entertaining shows, how the Earthers still knew some ancient Kobolian without somehow knowing about Kobol itself. By now, he just did not care and he left it to the people with a more prominent religious or historical bend to fight over. He just accepted this as a statement of fact. Then his eyes got first a little wide, and they got very narrow.

"So these Southern Pointers are visible from the Earth that you came from?" Bill was still looking at the person that all the Earthers still called Captain Kelly, even to this date.

Sophia jumped in before anyone else could say anything else. and took back control of the briefing. If she did not, the 'Type A' personalities would run all over the briefers, and not all of the needed information would be given out in a coherent way. This was one meeting where the leaders needed to know what had been found.

"Alpha Centauri's the closest star to the Sol system. And by close, its only four point three light years away from that star that the planet called Earth orbits. We have been able to work out something else with that information. It is that this star system..."

She pointed to the massive metal wall behind her, to refer to the star that their ships were closest to. "It would be called Tau Ceti, and it's about a dozen light years from Sol system."

Now Sophia was feeling her heart starting to race again. She used a light pen to trace a straight line route from the star by her head, to the star that had been marked Target Four.

Laura was confused. So much so that her politically trained face could not hide the confused look from the rest of the group. When she saw that Athena was looking right at her with her head tilting to one side, she knew that the other woman could tell that she was confused.

 _"Well, if she can see it, then I better just ask the question."_ She could not see any reason not to now. Besides, her quick mind was picking up on some issues with matching this information to the little bits that they knew about the Earthers that were helping them.

"I thought you said that the information you were picking up on these data waves were several hundred years out of date from what Captain Kelly had as data points?" Laura did not know who to look at, so she just kept eye contact with the briefer. By now, she could have hidden her facial expressions, but she decided not to.

Captain Kelly was quicker off the mark, now that he had his feet under him again. He took over the meeting just so that Athena did not say something that might be taken the wrong way. He knew that she still had deep seated issues with the Laura Roslin. It now seemed that this meeting was going to be one of the ones that would go down in history. And it so was not going to be just a foot note.

"Madam President, we have reports, both oral and written, from our home world that Rifts can take you to different Earths, other planets, planes of reality, or even different times from our or other Earths' past. Maybe we are in my planet's past? Or we could be in your Earth's present. I have not heard of any way to tell the difference between them. At least not from the few books and stories I have on the issue."

Kelly now turned his head to look in the general direction of Bill Adama. "I know that it has been the topic of a few late night brainstorming sessions among some smart people I know within the fleet. We need more information, and we also need to be very careful about what happens next. It's a timeline thing."

A few years back, Kelly and the Stapps had published a paper on affecting timelines. It had caused some lively debate for months after it was posted on the shared data network. It had also led to an increase in the download of books, movies, and other entertainment media that had anything to do with time travel. All seven of the Back to the Future movies where still very popular around the fleet, and were still in the top fifty most requested movies.

Laura felt like she had just been schooled. The briefing came back to her after the Earther captain had started talking. To her defense, it had been so many months ago, and she had been forced to sit through half a hundred meetings since then. Now she recalled it, and she remembered that she had not believed it then.

It had caused a lot of questions among the fleet, and had been covered by many news talk shows. So much so, in fact, that they had had to add a primer about how Colonial jump drives were known to work. It helped to prove that other dimensions existed. At least in something other than a few certain types of stories published before the Cylons had attacked, or from the entertainment media now available.

The paper, reports and interviews pointed out that the jump drives would not otherwise be able to move the massive ships among the stars like they did. That report had been widely viewed and downloaded from the fleet network on an almost weekly basis by inquisitive minds. It had just never had been thought, at least by the general public, that the shortcut that they used in their Colonial built space ships all went through space or dimensions which might have other living beings in it. Now, that was something to try to picture in the head.

The idea, much less the math, still went over most people's heads, and in fact most just nodded their heads and tried not to think too hard about it. Laura was thinking about all of those people who had done the same thing as she had. All were about to get hit in the face with all of the math again. She was now sure that this information was going to cause her any number of additional headaches in the not too distant future.

Laura gave herself a mental shake, and got herself back into the meeting. "Okay, so what year is it? Is there any way to find out if they are from Kobol? Do we have enough information yet to know if they will be able to help fight against the Cylons? That is, when they catch up to us again?"

Laura had that gut feeling that the Cylons would find them again. It might be the next day or it might be in a hundred years, but she was sure. And when those thinking machines found them again, it was going to be all out war, all over again. She was going to do her best to make sure the humans came out on top next time.

She did not call the planet Earth the Thirteenth Tribe now. It was common, though still highly questioned, knowledge in some circles that the Cylons had been the Thirteenth Tribe after all. She knew that it would take a while longer, but that same feeling was slowly making its way around the fleet.

She had a bet with herself on that subject. She suspected that in the next year, only the more hardcore religious groups will still resist calling the Cylons by that holy moniker of the Thirteenth Tribe. That little bit of memory caused her to smile. She was finding herself slowly using Kobol in place of the Thirteen Tribe. She did not notice that her smile was being taken the wrong way by the briefers. Laura knew this the second she saw the change in the briefers' face but by then it was just a little too late to fix the issue.

Sophia looked down at her notes, and had to fight to keep a frown from coming to her face as she noticed the President's odd little smile. "As near as we can tell at this time, we think that the local year is going to be somewhere in or about 2019. That is under the rules that Captain Kelly and his people have given us to use as a guideline. We still only have so much information about the planet, and what we have so far may likely be only what's open to the public. So we have no idea what might be going on behind the scenes with the governments or any militaries on the planet. We have no idea if they are a lost colony of Kobol. They are a long way from Kobol, but we just don't know anything like that."

Sophia stopped talking to get her feet back under her and to get a better tone of voice to continue the briefing. "About the only thing we know of that is even close to giving us an idea of their tech level, is when we look at what we think are their spacegoing assets. Mainly used by one of the major powers on the planet. They say that they have a few spacecraft called 'Space Shuttles' used in operations to low orbit. We think that they are maybe some kind of space truck or cargo carrier. We have only have been able to find a little of the data that you are asking about right now."

Sophia let her hands fold over her notes. "With this limited information to date, I would have to say that they are about as far behind Colonial technology as Colonial Laser and armor technology had been behind my people's. That is, when we first met."

It had taken the research team only a few minutes to come up with that analogy. It was enough to effectively get the idea across. It was so good that it had already been written down into the reports that would be posted for the whole fleet to read. The funny part was that it had come from Athena of all people.

Before Sophia could continue with her briefing, Saul jumped in with his own typical style of input. "They would be frakking slaughtered by the Cylons." It was hard to tell what tone he had just used, because the volume overrode everything else.

Sophia felt her back arch as she for some reason became defensive. "I wouldn't count them out so fast if I were you, Colonel. We know that they are not under a unified government like you're used to in Colonial Space. We have counted over two hundred different name references to nation-states on that one planet. How big are they or how powerful their militaries might be, I don't know, yet, but if history repeats itself?"

She could tell that they were still not getting what she was driving at. She did not bother looking at the two Earth born men. "Think about how much trouble and combat you had with the Twelve Colonies trying to work together to form one government. I would bet that they have been practicing war down there for a very long time. We also know that about dozen of these countries have nuclear weapons of some type or the other. Some of those countries seem to control thousands of warheads. And those warheads range in power from a few Kilotons to a few Megatons in yield. I wouldn't count on almost all of the six billion humans rolling over and dying. Not without putting up some kind of a fight before they stop breathing!" Sophia was having mental flames shooting out of her eyes and steam coming out of her ears.

Bill's head started swimming, and looked around the table so fast most of the faces just blurred out in his eyes. He could not tell if anyone else had caught the huge number of people she had just hit them over the head with. He looked back at Sophia after looking around his side of the room. He could tell that she was angry about something, but right about then he did not care.

As his mind started to working again, he took a second quick look around the room. It looked like to him that they did not get it. It was that, or he had misunderstood what she had said in the first place. There was only one way to find out if he needed to start looking close at retirement or not.

"I'm sorry. Did you say billion or million when talking about the population size on that one planet? And we are talking about one planet, right?"

Bill's voice had a bit of a crack in it, but not to his own ears. He was being overwhelmed by the changes that were being thrown at him. He had not been expecting anything like what the briefer had been saying. This slight cracking of his voice was what got Laura's attention. She saw the little beads of moisture on her man's forehead, and now she focused on the numbers being thrown around her, like any other average adjective.

Now that he had said something, everyone on his side of the desk was starting to really look at the numbers that had been thrown at them. Every head went back to Sophia like weapons turrets on a battlestar. When all of the eyes were looking at her instead of talking to each other, Sophia addressed the group one more time.

"Yes Admiral. From what we pulled from multiple educational programs on overpopulation. And it is one planet. From that, and a couple of other sources, which I feel are reliable, the number is somewhere between six and seven billion people living on the planet. That is a correct enough information for us to use as a reference point. They might have a few dozen people in orbit, but all of the rest? They are ground bound as near as we can tell." Sophia held her chin high as she saw the shocked look on the Colonial military's senior leader.

Laura was in stunned silence right along with Bill, and Kelly, but Saul was not. "That is more than what the frakking Colonies had on any six planets combined before the Cylons orbital bombardment! They must be living in everyone else's frakking hip pockets. Have those frakkers ever heard of having decent living space? The only fresh air they must have is when someone else farts! And I thought that we had some privacy issues!"

This outburst bought Laura Roslin time to get her mind back up to somewhere close to full speed again. She needed to get her thoughts worked out so that she could ask her question in a way that would make sense to the rest of the people in this room. When she was ready she had put her hands on the table top to help her focus.

"Do we maybe have a rough idea of how many nuclear weapons they might have? That are really usable?"

Laura had thought Sophia had said a number but she had been around the block a few times. So she wanted that number and any quantifier pulled from the rest of the data. Laura remembered a talk she had with Bill, Saul, and Lee on night. They were talking about how the public thought the Colonial Navy had all of these nuclear weapons deployed into the fleet. When in fact, the real numbers were a lot lower than what most people would have thought. She was wondering if this was true of the nearby planet filled with humans. She did not know what answer she was hoping for.

Athena checked her notes quickly, because this was not an easy question to answer. She stepped up beside Sophia to take some of the attention off of the other woman. "We don't have a breakdown, so much by country or power block. We do know that two countries have been reported on a list of these types of weapons by number. That was done because of some kind of treaty signed by both powers some time ago."

Sophia nodded to Athena, who then took a deep breath. "That pubic document says that they have between ten to twenty thousand nuclear warheads each. But again, we have no way of knowing if those are true numbers or not. I think it might be close, just from the number of treaties that were referenced. Those treaties referencing these numbers were only between larger powers on the planet. We also know that the other power blocks have anywhere from a few weapons to maybe a hundred warheads each"

Laura was blinking her eyes rapidly, and her mouth started to move without her brain in control of it. This was a very rare event for the elected leader of what remained of the Colonies of Man. After a few wordless mouth movements, words started to fall out again. It was just too bad that her brain had not caught up to this fresh mental assault.

"They could blast the whole planet to dust with just a fraction of that number! What are they, frakking crazy?"

She almost shrieked at the top of her lungs. She had seen some of the data recovered and recorded by the Raptors when they had pulled Sam, his people, and the Arrow off one of the planets of her people. Add to that the aftermath of the Battle of the Cylon Outpost. Granted that last one had been a special circumstance, but she was not being that rational right about now. She was fighting down a long list of images popping into her brain at random.

Bill was running the numbers through his head as fast as he could. He first turned to the sound that Laura had made before turning back to face the briefers. He knew that he was not on his A-game today but that did not stop him from wanting to help quantify something.

"The Colonial Fleet always kept a few thousand large weapons ready to use but they were in the main depots spread across the main bases and major orbital platforms."

Bill dropped his head, deep in thought for a second before continuing to speak. "I think that I'm going to paraphrase a saying I heard from Amazon, awhile back. These people are armed for bear. I think if the Cylons find them. The Cylons are still going to win, but they are not going to like what it will cost them." He felt a smile come to his face, and he gave a snort and a slight head shake in disbelief.

Laura looked at Bill out of the corner of her eye, but kept herself turned towards the briefers. She thought that she understood the slight smile on his face. Then again, she had been wrong about it before. She focused back on the briefers for a few seconds and then turned to face the Admiral. This was going to be in his ballpark at least at first.

"So do we make contact or not? If they feel threatened they might decide to try to kill our people with all of those nuclear weapons. We could lose people if that happens. But SIX BILLION people, on ONE PLANET!? BY THE GODS!" She knew these were the million cubit questions, and she felt her head start to rock back and forth.

Saul let out a sigh that carried a little further than he would have wanted it to. He did not reply for a handful of heartbeats. "If we don't make contact with them, and the Cylons find them, how much blood will be on our hands then?" Saul did not look around the room but was instead looking at his wrinkled old hands.

All of what were called the Final Five Cylons carried a lot of guilt about what their modified creations had done to the humans in the surprise attack. When one of them made a comment about blood on their hands they were speaking from personal experience. It would be a mental scar that they would carry around for a very long time.

Laura nodded her head, and then looked at her almost husband. "We will watch them for a while, and keep gathering data. I think that we will make contact with them. Bill I can't even begin to tell you what to do with the fleet on this one. But I don't think sending a capital ship that close to them is a good idea. At least not as a first impression. That wouldn't help our cause at all. How about we just keep sending Raptors to collect data for now?"

Bill nodded his head up and down. He first looked at Laura, and then around the room. "I was thinking along the same lines. Let's get more information before we decide on when or if we make contact with this group. I don't want to jump the gun too quickly. I think that sending in the Raptors is the best plan for now. How long do you think we can keep a lid on this?"

Bill was already thinking along the lines of safety for his crews. Radar had worked very well against the Cylons, but that was because they did not know to look for it in the first place. These people knew about radar, so that system would not be as effective in scouting and keeping hidden at the same time. DRADIS on the other hand had been unknown to the Earthers before they joined his people. Most of their equipment could not detect it, even when they were looking for it. The new armor that the Earthers made was hard for both Radars and DRADIS to get a normal return on. It was not impossible to detect them, but a craft with this new skin was that much harder to find. Bill's mind went through these facts so fast that the people around him did not notice what he might be thinking about. That is, until he opened his mouth.

"We need to make sure any vessel that goes there has a thick layer of the Earther made armor and Colonial made sensors. That would be the best of both worlds, at least for now, any way. How long do you think you can keep this quiet to let my people work on getting more data?"

Laura rolled her eyes, but she was still looking at her man. "I don't know. A few days? Maybe a week, or it could only be for a few hours."

She turned in her chair, and made eye contact with the briefers. "Sophia, is there any way to limit the data that is being published to the fleet network?" This was the first thing to pop into her mind which might help her keep this new wrinkle quiet a little longer.

Athena threw her shoulders back and went into full defensive mode in a blink of an eye. Limiting who had access to the data was not something she wanted to do. Having a delay for a few hours, no problem. That is, until the meeting was over and the leadership had made a few plans. Any longer than that and it started to feel like lying to her, and she hated being lied to. She had not liked it before when someone had taken her child and told her that it had died only to find out that someone else had been raising her all along. This was a fresh memory now that she had just given birth to her and Karl's second child.

Sophia saw her co-briefer react to the question, and hoped the others did not notice it. "We could, but it would only be for a few days at most. You wrote the directive about openly posting the data to a place where the whole fleet could access it yourself. And that was the way the code was written into the computers almost from the first day. Besides that, the people outside of our teams have gotten used to the regular updates to those files. I think if we stop updating those databases, more questions would be asked and it would come out a lot sooner than you would want."

Bill looked towards Laura, and over his glasses at her. "She's right. Let them keep updating the database, just as they have normally been doing. If someone notices something, then we let them bring it up to us. I do think that we should be briefed on any of the big items, just as we talked about before. I do not want this briefing put on the network, but the raw data goes into the database."

Bill now looked and gave a slight nod to Kelly. "I also think it's time for us to retire to my office. I want to come up with some plans, just in case. Sophia, Athena, you both have done a great briefing, as always. I want a detailed copy of your briefing sent to my cabin. If you need anything, you both know how to contact me directly. Even if you're not sure, contact me. I have a feeling that we are at a critical time in history for our people."

Athena and Sophia took the Admiral's last words to mean that they were to just keep doing as they had been doing. At least in reference to this task. In the past the briefings had only been posted to the government only network and that was to continue.

The leadership group left the converted fuel tank, and went to the Admiral's office on his part of the flagship. There, they were going to dust off some old plans, and come up with some new ones. They would be put on paper but would not ever leave his office in anything close to one piece. Not if he could help it, anyway.

The key leadership would spend hours and hours each day working together on this one project. Sometimes they would add members for a few hours or days, and then some people would leave the group just as suddenly. One thing was made clear to everyone who was brought in to this planning event, they were not to talk about what was being worked on. Or else they would have deal with the Old Man of the fleet in person.

Even his son, the only other Battlestar commander, was not willing to risk that. Not when Bill Adama was in a bad mood. It turned out that they had more time to plan than they had thought they would have. Even with the huge workload everyone in the fleet was under after finding this amazing star system. This meant that most people had very little free time. Much less have time to go digging deep into the growing amount of information coming in from the strange radio waves.

Unless you are on the prison ship, that is. Then you have a lot of spare time. At least when you were not on a ten hour work shift that had you doing something equal parts mind numbing and disgusting. Then you had a lot of free time, if you had the right kind of drive. Most people in that situation had other drives and reading and searching computer databases were not in their wheelhouse for a drive.

Tom Zarek had been convicted of election fraud, again, after the last fleetwide election for public office. He could never get his head around the fact that the Earthers had technology that most of the Colonials had never even thought of yet at their everyday disposal. He was stuck in the one fact that they did not have any spacefaring capability and therefore must be backwards in the everyday technical areas compared to Colonials.

Tom had looked positively gob smacked when he was on trial. They had played very detailed recordings to the court about his attempts to fake a large batch of the election results on a few of the key ships. It was just like any other deal he had been involved in. At least before they had been first released from the Astral Queen. He had no idea why anyone would be that upset with his machinations. It was not like they had not been caught doing this before. They had put him back into a cell, but that was only for a few months.

What he had not known was that Captain Kelly had been watching him closely after he was released the last time. And when the first report came to him that some monkey business might be in the works for the next election, he went ahead and had a few small devices planted in some technically public areas known to attract certain types of people. The types who tended toward less than legal activities. When one of those devices picked up and recorded a particular meeting that took place, that information was passed to a judge.

It did not take long for the judge to give the okay for additional surveillance to be done on one Tom Zarek. That way, there was no way that anything could come back to bite the person called Captain Kelly. Everything was nice and legal on Kelly's part at least.

During the very public trial, all of evidence was broadcast if not live then with only a short delay. The whole fleet was short on new entertainment. This trial filled that need for true crime, if you can call that type of stuff entertainment. They had clip after clip of meetings that Tom had been in spread out over weeks and months. They had even brought out to testify the three people he had talked into modifying the voting machines and had recordings of them doing the deed. Just as he had been recorded as asking them to do.

Somehow, someone had even been able to get still images of him paying the people off in silver coins, supposedly after the modifications had been made to the vote counting machines. Those were even released to the press, thankfully only after they had been shown to the judges. The next day, they had to move Tom into a private holding cell on the Astral Queen. A rumor had gotten around that some of the local crime gangs wanted to save the government some money.

It had taken the court only a half an hour to come back with a verdict. The union organizer, turned terrorist, turned politician, turned criminal again, was sentenced to fifteen years to life of hard labor on the prison ship. He would have to do each of those first fifteen years of hard labor before he could be make his first request for parole.

The gaming odds were over fifteen thousand to one against that he would make parole on the first try. His lawyer had told Tom that he had been lucky, even if he did not think so. The court could have decided that shooting and turning him into compost was a better idea. That is, instead of pimping him out for free labor for the next decade and a half or so.

This was not Tom's first trip to the prison ship, so he thought he knew what to expect when he got there this time. Being on it in the first place had been the only reason he had survived the Cylon surprise attack. He had been well known to the guards before he tried to take over the ship in the beginning of all of this mess. As it turned out, that little event did not improve his life style, now that he was back on the prison ship. And this time he would not be able to spend all of his time sleeping and eating in a single private cell that a VIP of his standings should have.

He had known of and publicly supported the idea that prisoners would have to work to help the fleet. It had been a very popular idea across the fleet when he ran for political office. He had tried to claim the idea as one of his own, one that Roslin had stolen from him. Now that he had to do some of that nasty, stinking work, he was not as happy with the idea. Having to do that kind of work himself was repugnant. After all, he was famous, and famous people should not have to do that kind of work. And again, after all, he had been the elected Vice President of the Twelve Colonies. The Cylons had treated him better than he was being treated now.

Tom knew that there must be some kind of law that they were not following to make him do hard labor of any type, much less this kind of hard labor. Repeatedly, his lawyer had told him that no such law existed but Tom was still not buying it. Not for a second. He had taken it upon himself to find that law that he knew was somewhere in the law books. He just needed to find it, and when he did, he was going to use his false imprisonment and borderline torture to remove that witch Roslin out of her ill-gotten office.

Tom was in what the Earthers called a blue funk as he helped clean the Number Four Bio Reactor out of its latest run. The run was a nice way of saying it turned crap into good top soil for the small gardens spread around the fleet. He had been grousing and complaining about the work quite vocally again. He was so engrossed about how a person like him should not be doing something nasty like this that he did not notice one of his old compatriots, who had not been released, coming up behind him on very quiet feet.

His first sign that something was wrong was the slight sting of the carefully made and hidden blade, as it entered his body from behind near his left kidney. The real pain started just as he turned to face his new tormentor. Then the pain became like a high pressure water main breaking, and it overwhelmed him within a few eye blinks.

Tom made eye contact with the man looking back at him with an evil smile on his dirty and scarred face. When the pain hit him full force, Tom reacted to the primal drive that the attack had forced Tom's body and mind to perform. Both of his hands flew to the source of the pain. When he pulled them back to look at the palms they had only come away wet with what Tom knew somehow was his own blood. The lights had started to dim as more and more of Tom's life giving fluid leaked from the wound down his legs and onto the wet metal deck.

Tom's body hit the metal deck with a wet thump as he was still looking at his red stained palms. One part of Tom's brain let him know that he had not made any sound loud enough to alert the watching guards that something was wrong with him. In the end, he was again lucky, because he had been so famous around the fleet.

His attacker was able to melt back into the working group unnoticed, even among the other inmates. With such a high profile prisoner however, it was not long before the guards noticed something was wrong. Soon, they rushed to see what happened behind their backs to the high value pain in the ass. It was only their quick thinking, and some high level first aid skills that had become a commonly studied skill in the fleet, that saved Tom's life. No matter how much most of the guards would have liked to just let him die, it would not have been professional. The guards saw themselves as both professionals and in a professional service. So, they could not just let him die on their watch.

With a confirmed threat to his life, regulation dictated that the Warden put Tom into protective custody. That did not mean that he got out of many of the work details he was required to do under his hard labor sentence. It did mean he had a lot more free time on his hands after his release from the medical bay.

So, what did he do with his increased amount of free time? He used it to surf through the information network that he had access to. If he had been in the general population of inmates he would have had to share the one access terminal with others. Now that he was in protective custody he had his own access terminal in his private cell. The odd part of Tom's brain knew that the cell he was currently living in had most likely belonged to Baltar before his end. The main part of Tom's brain made sure that he did not dwell on that information for any length of time.

At first his drive was to find out as much as he could about the Earthers as a society. When he thought he knew enough, he looked into all of the loaded law texts he could find. Between those two drives, when he needed to relax mentally ever few hours he used the access system to keep up with what was going on around, and in, the rag tag fleet as they traveled through deep space.

That changed when information started to come in from the decoded radio waves the military ships were picking up. He devoured this new information like a starving man a thick cut T-bone steak. He gave up on looking into the law texts. He would spend hour after hour with his face buried in the slightly blue light of his computer screen. Sometimes he would fall asleep still engrossed in the data, his head thumping onto the keyboard.

It was Tom who found the golden nuggets of data that most civilians in the fleet had not noticed. The ones that were not hidden, but also not noted, in the constantly updated files about Earth. He might have been a career criminal, but he still had a long list of powerful friends. Even if they were thinner on the ground now than they had been at any time since he was released the first time from this ship not long after the Fall.

Tom had sent that whole list of friends a few little notes about what he had found out. In them, he told those friends about how close they seemed to be to the source of the radio transmissions. It was not a fast process, because most people on that list, well, they did not trust Tom now as far as any of them could throw him.

After a while though, and a lot of messages sent time after time to everyone on the list, it finally did get some people interested in what he was saying. At least, interested enough to pay other people to look in the right places Tom had pointed out. All to see if Tom was right or just trying to get attention again. With Tom you never could be sure.

Laura Roslin was giving a press conference in the main press briefing area of the ship she called home. It was about how the different tasks in this system were progressing. At the end of the overly long briefing, a female reporter in the back of the small room asked her question. Laura was only using the briefing to keep her face in the news, something that she felt that she had to do at least once every week. It also let those people working those tasks know that they were doing important work. She would later say, if she had 20/20 hindsight, that she should have called in sick that day.

"Madam President. Is it true that we are as few as two jumps away, from the humans that we have been looking for?"

Before anyone could say a word, the young woman added a second statement to her question. "If so, why have we stopped and why are we not pushing to meet up with them?"

It was called salting a meeting, and the person who had asked the question had already started shifting location among a group of standing reporters. This maneuver was to hide who had asked the bombshell of a question. When any eye backtracked the direction where the questions came from, they would only see an empty location. Or maybe even a different person in the place of the bomb lobber. It was an old but very effective trick to use in a press conference.

Laura looked up from the notes in her hands. She knew her head had moved too fast and that her surprise could be visible to sharp eyed views. She had to strain to see who had broken the news and let the cat out of the bag.

 _"Well from the looks being shot around the room, and the barely audible comments coming from this group of jackals, they are surprised,"_ thought Laura. Her head might have popped up, but she had been able to keep the expressions on her face to only say what she had wanted.

She could tell that the old hands were not taking the question seriously. _"Well I'm going to have to take them down a peg,"_ thought Laura. She made a game of looking around the room for a few more seconds.

 _"I wonder who seeded that question. Bill or Kelly would have told me if they were planning something like that to be popped on me. Both of those gentlemen know that they would hate for me to give them a little payback if they did something like that to me and they know I would do it with a smile on my face."_

She gave a slow smile that a few of the front row news crew knew was not a good sign. They did not know who was going to be cut by what she was about to say. They did know that someone was in for a not so good day. A few of the smartest ones made sure to keep the cameras rolling. With a good focused shot on the elected leader of their people, they could tell that someone was about to get the Laura Roslin hammer dropped on them. That would always get some good air time on the fleetwide network.

Laura could have just laughed off the question but when it came out later, and it would come out, she would be in trouble. If it looked like she had been hiding the truth from the average Joe public, then Joe public would not support her in some of the harder choices she was going to ask them to make in the not too distant future. In short they would not trust her, and she and Bill were going to need that trust badly. How soon would depend on how a few other plans were working on panned out.

The slightly smiling Roslin lifted her chin, and then let it drop just a little. She wanted it to look like she was glaring at the recordings being made of this event. With her body language set and her face just so, she let the hammer fall on the unsuspecting crowd of reporters.

"I see that someone has been reading the files that I had ordered dumped to the fleet wide database. And so, to answer your question from whomever is now hiding amongst you all is... yes. We are only a few jumps away from the planet that is the source of the radio waves. The ones we have been following for a while now. We are not a hundred percent sure it is the source, but we are pretty sure of the fact. As to why we have not gone there already, one is that we are here working on our ships. Some of which need major engine or life-support repairs."

Laura was looking around the room as she spoke. She was careful not to let her eyes linger on anyone in particular too long. "Another reason that we have not gone there, is that, we, and by we I mean the Admiral, Captain Kelly, and I, all thought it would be better for us to find out more information about them. That is, before we risked all of those newborn children we have running around the fleet or jump a hundred space ships into their system. All without any warning first. I don't think they would like that kind of a surprise."

She gave the room a not so friendly smile, with lots of teeth showing, and a gleam in her eyes. One that was only slightly this side of full blown crazy. "After all, what would we have done back home if a fleet of strange ships this size just showed up in one of our star systems without any warning?" The tone she used was the same one she had used time and again to explain something to the average eight year old.

A grumbling started amongst the group of reporters, and it was slowly getting louder. That is, until someone a little braver, or maybe crazier than the rest, went to full volume with their voice.

"Why weren't we told about this? What are you hiding?"

This was finally yelled out from about the middle of the crowd of upset press pool reporters. Laura was betting that a few thousand other people in the fleet were yelling the same thing at whatever display was nearest to them. She was okay with that. As an educator, she hated having to spoon-feed facts to her students.

Laura had a brighter twinkle in her eye and now she was ready to lower the boom on them. "It's not my job to hold your hand and spoon-feed you information that is publicly available. The information was put out for the general population to view, and to educate themselves with. It was not held in some computer locked in a vault somewhere on the flagship.

Laura let her nose drop a little more and she looked over her glasses at the group. "But I see only one of you took the time to keep up on the current events that affect the whole fleet's future. I would suggest maybe spending less time at the triad games and spending more time studying, and keeping up with what is going on in the fleet would be a good idea. I thought that you all were supposed to be investigative reporters, after all."

Laura made a sad face, which was not completely false. "It would seem that your skills are all getting a little on the rusty side."

Laura picked up her note cards, turned, and stated walking away from the briefing podium. The group did not ask another question and as she moved back toward her office, she called back to the group of flatfooted press corps personnel over her left shoulder. The evil grin was still plastered all over her face and her tone was more than just slightly mischievous.

"Have fun catching up." She turned her head again walking away from the podium and making her way out the side door. The sounds of raised voices followed her until the door closed behind her. She would have some regrets about that last statement later, and the look that had been caught on tape would be used against her time and again to try to show that she was unfit for the office she had been elected into.

Tory was waiting with a questioning look on her face when the hatch shut behind the President. "So do we want to punt, and put the brief on the network now?" She was referring to a plan that the older Adama had put together. It was ready to be published, as soon as somebody broke the story. It was just the basic outline of what the Admiral was going to do in the short term about this subject.

It was not that much information, all in all. Simply put, the fleet would stay in this system until all of the long list of needed repairs had been completed on all of the ships. It had a rough timeline set up to scout, and then map the star group referred to by the Earthers as Alpha Centauri. It also laid out pointblank that the rest of the fleet would not go to that system. Not until it or any of the other systems were deemed safe for their limited population by military scouts and the Admiral's staff. If anything of need was found, then the mining ships would be dispatched to whatever system needed their attention. Any of the fleet's ships moving outside of this system would escorted by one of the two Battlestars at all times.

What was not in that brief were the long term plans or even any of the plans that were on hold. At least not until more information was found out about the inhabited world not too far away. The soon to be released brief had only the short term ideas. In short it was a whole lot of nothing. It would hold everyone's attention until more data was reviewed.


	18. Chapter 18 talking about Earth

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 18 Talking About Earth**

Tau Ceti, Over 6 Years After the Fall of the Colonies

7 Years 9 Months AT, 37 Months After Leaving the Nebula.

Two weeks later, all of the leadership were in a full blown meeting. This time, the meeting included the full Quorum, all members handed copies of the formal brief as they took their seats. It was complete with video images, maps, and graphic slides, along with printed handouts.

The whole briefing was recorded, and also broadcast live to every ship in the Rag Tag Fleet in this star system. The recordings were posted minutes after the briefing had been finished to the fleet wide network that the Earthers had helped build. From there, the news channels could access the briefing, just like the average person in the fleet could. Searchers could look for any little bits of information they might have forgotten. Or that they had been too overwhelmed to understand the first time it was covered.

Lee Adama had been tasked with giving the latest update on the almost ternary star system they had not just been scouting, but also mapping in detail. All around the fleet they had started calling this larger system the Alpha Centauri system. It made too much sense to call it by a name that already sounded right in Caprican.

"As you can see, on this overlay map, this group of three closely orbiting stars only has one Caprica-sized planet formed amidst all of those fluctuating gravity fields. It's a very hot rock and not of much use to us. At least, not right now or in the foreseeable future."

"It does have eight different and very thick rubble belts in this system. They are, in fact, quite huge belts. Three of them are as thick as the thickest asteroid belts ever reported in Colonial Fleet history. It would seem that the tidal forces of the nearby stars stopped any more planets from forming when these finally consolidated and what was left of the material from the stars' formation was pushed into these belts."

Lee had to stop talking so that the press people and the audience could make notes about what he had said. Lee kept a political smile on face that looked genuine even to his father. Lee looked first to his father and gave him a wink, before turning to look back at the gathered group of brief takers. What he was not saying was that some of those asteroids were the size of full fledged planets.

"This is good news for us. We are still doing scans of the star system with Raptors, but we have found all kinds of different ices and heavy minerals that can be very useful to us. We have also had readings on DRADIS of many different sources of Tylium ores all over this star cluster."

"We don't know what quality the Tylium ores might be. At least, not until one of the refining ships can start working them. But it should help with our fuel needs, even if they are the lowest quality ores ever recorded in Colonial history. I recommend moving up the plan to send those extraction and refining ships to work those deposits as soon as we think it's safe enough to work that area." He quickly added the last part without looking towards his father.

As he spoke, Lee pointed to different parts of one of the displayed images with the rubble of large and small orbital body belts on them. They showed as thin and thick dusty lines on the image.

The last image he put on display was of a planet that looked black with rivers of red blood-like lava running all over it. They started from the equator and got thinner as they moved to the planet's two magnetic poles. It looked like a hell planet, and the Raptor crews had already labeled it Hades.

When he was done, Lee sat down for the next person to come up and brief this group of jackals. He had not wanted or needed to tell the people in this room that those belts were a treasure trove of amazing size. That was something that was reserved for an hour long entertainment show.

The initial reports had the ore deposits as being the largest ever recorded in Colonial history. It would be bad if it came out later that the Raptors' systems had overestimated something like that after it had been briefed to the whole fleet. It was also heavy with the elements used to make the coins traded for commerce around the fleet. There was enough to make a lot of coins!

Bill Adama rose to speak next to the gathering of people and press. "Normally Sophia or Athena would be doing this part of the briefing but they are still working on the latest data just in from the modified Raptors. It was replaced by the next ESM Raptor on rotation and we will keep that pace for as long as we can."

Bill took a breath. He had decided to take this part of the briefing because he was expecting there to be some issues or blow back at whoever did the talking. "We have found out that most of the people on the planet we are calling 'An Earth' actually refer to their planet as Earth. This is from the news reports we've collected. We can also now call it. Something over sixty percent of the whole planet's population is monotheist. Or claim no religion leanings at all. At least, according to the data we have found so far."

Bill had to hold up both hands and give 'The Look' to get the gathered body to stop talking and interrupting his part of the briefing. "We also know that one of the monotheist group centers is in one of the major desert regions of the planet. There have been a number of conflicts waged between various monotheistic groups in that area. From what we have been able to find out, well, let's just say that it makes the Followers of the One all seem like group of unhappy school kids playing with some firecrackers and noise makers. This data is almost five years old from when it was transmitted from this planet, so we do not know if the fighting is still continuing or not."

"We're also getting a lot of data bleeding out to us on several different radio frequencies. Sophia and Athena found evidence that the local inhabitants have developed a global information network of some kind."

Bill stopped talking to take a sip of water to wet his throat, but also to buy some time to let the information settle into whoever might be viewing this briefing on other ships. He was going to give them information that was going to cause a lot of shock. At least, based around the experience with the Cylons over the years before the new Cylon War. When he felt the time was right, he fixed his gaze at a point on the far wall.

"We think that it's like our fleet network. Only it is on a huge scale, a planetwide scale. I did some searching in the archives, and it's a lot like what the Colonies had in use in the time before the First Cylon War started. Before you ask me, we have no idea what protections are built into this planet wide system, if any. What we do know, is that it's open for almost any computer user. Of course, there could be checks and balances hidden within the system we haven't seen and we will not see 'til we access it somehow."

Bill stopped talking when a hand shot up in the back of the room. Bill at first thought about ignoring it, but he saw Laura point in that general direction with her chin. If she thought it was important, then it was a good bet that it was going to be worth his time to be interrupted. Then again there was a first time for everything.

"Yes, you in the back. Do you have a relevant question?"

The male voice came from short man that was well hidden by the rest of the group. "Why have you not accessed the planetary information grid, yet?"

Bill let out a breath and looked at the metal covered ceiling overhead. He had not expected a dumb question, but this one was pushing the word dumb, and going all the way to oxygen thief. He shot a look to Laura who only gave him a look that said he had better answer it. When he looked back out into the crowd. He could see a few heads nodding in agreement with the oxygen thief. Bill knew that he needed to address it with information and that it was best if he did not use the scorn filled words he had been about to use. Well, for the most part.

"Maybe I should have said if you had a good question," he muttered under his breath before raising his voice again for the public to hear. "We are over four light years from that planet. Any attempts we made would take over eight years to get back a positive or a negative result. Do you want to wait here for a few hundred years, just waiting and doing nothing else? All so you could see if you can access their network or not? And we're just talking about a hand shake, not actually getting data."

Bill let the group from the Quorum mumble for a while, and took another sip of water to kill some more time. He then hit a button to pull up another image to display. He was hoping that one of them would fall asleep again. This time while they were transmitting live to the rest of the fleet. It was just too bad that he could not delay too long.

"Now I need to move the briefing from the information flow to what we have received and decoded from the planet to date. We'll also go over to the actual physical layout of the solar system we've been talking about. As you can see the system is called Sol by the locals, and it has over a dozen large orbital bodies going around a yellow star. The star has spectral lines that match to what the Rifters had on file pretty closely. The planets carry names given by the locals, which seem to have come right out of the oldest scrolls."

Bill kept his face very still as he continued. "The third one from the star is called Earth or Terra by the locals currently living on it. At each of the edges of the habitable zone are two more, if smaller, planets. One of them, the outer one, is just at the edge of a thin rubble belt. Going out past the rubble belt, are gas planets that range in size from very large to what we consider normal sized. They reach out to the comet belt around the star."

"We do know that each of the major and even most of the minor bodies in this system all have had or still have a robotic probe near them, launched from the third planet in the recent past. We have gathered enough data to safely jump deep into the system at this time. We have not, however, sent any Colonial ships or personnel to that system yet. This is to dispel what some might have said in broadcasts to date around the fleet."

Bill now looked directly at the group of reporters. There had been some reports claiming the military had already visited the system and that they were keeping it from the rest of the people. All so the military could take any advantage it could.

If it was not so serious an accusation it would have been funny. It was talk like that that could start a revolution. Whether it was true or not would not matter when the blood started to flow or freeze in the vacuum of space.

That got the group from the Quorum talking out of turn in sometimes not very low voices. They had been hit hard by the news and public statements that were counter to what a few of them had leaked to the press over the last few days.

The military commander and the President had known about this bit of information for some time. So they had to wait for the chickens to finish squawking before they could continue with the briefing. Laura was hiding a smile behind her hands as she saw the looks on a few of those faces.

Bill did not have to wait very long for all of the talking to stop and he continued his brief. He was not known for dealing nicely with civilians who tried to make it seem like they knew something about how to run a military operation. He would hammer them with facts until their eyes rolled into the back of their heads.

He would have preferred to sic Saul on them but after the last time, very few people would let him into their offices without an appointment. And they had given strict, if unwritten orders that he was never to have an appointment.

"What I plan to do with this information about people leaking information is a military issue." Now it was time to change the subject back to the reason for this meeting.

"So far, any data we have on this system was passively recorded. I plan to take the Galactica to the edge of the Alpha Centauri system where it's closest to the Sol system. We will then be using her as a forward operating base and send in a pair of the modified Raptors into that inhabited system. They are going to be sent to two different locations near the largest of the gas giant planets in that system."

Bill was looking around the room as he was talking, and everyone was either looking at him with wide eyes or writing down feverishly. "For these locations, one of the Raptors will use their Colonial built sensor systems to make sure there are no surprises in the local space. Ones that might have been missed in the broadcasts we have seen to date."

"The second Raptor will have Athena or Kathy along with a single crewmember from Captain Kelly's people. Their task will be to try to somehow access the global information network from a very remote location. We need to be able to search for information directly, instead of sift through what might have been launched out into space as a byproduct. They will have strict instructions not to make direct contact with the people that live in that system."

He had to stop talking when two of the members from the more religious centered populations got agitated with what had been talked about so far. It looked like their heads were going to explode as they yelled and spit flew across the table as the white balls of wetness left their mouths.

Bill let them get a good head of steam going before he put his foot down. It was not on their necks, but it was just as good in some ways. And it was being transmitted live across the fleet. The Admiral was coming across as the one being attacked.

"SIT DOWN!" Bill was not known to yell, and the incredible booming of his voice was a surprise to most. It had the desired effect, and the two men took their seats again. All of it was caught and recorded, for review later.

Bill made eye contact with each of the elected leaders were seated around the long table in the room. He was now in full 'I am the Admiral of the Fleet' mode. _Do not frak with me or the two million ton warships that I command._

"This is a military operation and it will be done under the normal and accepted military rules of engagement. I will not take some robes who are not going to be of any value on the craft but could instead get underfoot of those that are completing the mission. Jobs that I have given them to do."

"Having someone sitting in something as small as a Raptor using up its limited onboard air, just because you think it would look good to the gods? That is not going to happen. If the gods are watching, they would most likely be angry as all frak that you risked the lives of the Raptor's warrior crews, just for such a vain action. We are handling this like we are scouting a Cylon controlled star system and that's final."

The meeting went on for a few more hours, and nothing new was covered in all of that time. That is, besides few political monkeys trying to get in the way of a very delicate operation. More to the point, it came across just that way in the recordings that would be viewed by the whole fleet over and over again. That was how it looked to the average viewer.

Bill and Laura knew that they had played hardball with the other political leaders. It would come back to them in the near future but a line had to be drawn again and again sometimes for them to understand that they were not all powerful within the fleet. The Colonial government had been split up in a division of powers a long time ago just for that reason and Bill and Laura were going to do everything in their power to keep it that way.

They were right, because it only took less than an hour after the meeting had broken up. The talking head news shows were all baying for the pair of loudmouthed spitters' very blood. Laura, Tory or Bill Adama, had to spend the next two weeks doing at least two hours a day on those same talking head shows. All to explain, why they were planning the operation the way they were.

They had to have on hand declassified copies of operation plans from the first war along with documents on current military regulations and standard operating procedure. Those were some of the highest rated shows for the day.

After the rounds on the talking head shows had been complete, the fleetwide opinion polls showed that almost three quarters of the population eventually agreed with them, at least in the way they were planning the next few steps. As soon as the poll numbers were announced on one of the news update shows, Admiral Adama launched his plan.

It was only three days after the last interview Bill had to do that one mining and one refining ship along with the old battlestar left the rest of the fleet on a move that would take them beyond Tau Ceti. All so that they would be able to move to the next step in the plan that Bill and his staff had worked out. It was a dance, but this one was going to be armchair reviewed to death for years if not decades to come.

* * *

A week later, on the dark side of a beautifully colored, banded giant of a planet, a brief flash of light and a wave of odd energies heralded the arrival of a Colonial Raptor. At the same time, a second craft popped into being further out on the dark side of another, if somewhat smaller, gas giant. The one called Saturn by the locals. Each of these two craft had their own mission to complete. And each dearly hoped that they would not see or need to communicate with the other Colonial craft in this system.

What they did not know that was the old space probe called Juno by its makers was just coming up over the north pole of the massive planet. It was moving in an odd, almost polar orbit that it had been put into for scientific purposes. It also was solar powered and currently only had passive systems in operation for collecting data.

She was a dumb probe by Colonial standards, but she had a job to do. One that she had done very well after reaching the orbit of this planet so many years ago. So when she crossed the top of this world, she recorded the flash of light and energy that had been made closer to the equator.

The Colonial small craft was too small to show in the image taken by the three ton solar powered craft. Juno would hold on to the data for weeks, before transmitting it to Earth. It would have to wait until it was back on the sunward facing side of the planet for its weak transmitter to function.

The raw data and images would languish again for more long weeks before the first set of human eyes even saw it. It would only be months later that the importance of that little flash of energy and blurring motion would be realized by a certain group of very specialized researchers. Even then those eyes belonged to very low level undergrad students and of course by then it would be too late to do any good for the leadership of several key countries. So the discovery would be relegated to a mere footnote in history when it was finally understood.

Racetrack flipped a few switches and went to totally passive data collection. They were operating under the same rules of engagement they would have used in scouting a Cylon system in time of war. These were skills that had to have the rust knocked off of them recently.

Thankfully, they had almost half a year to practice these skills away from the eyes of any unwanted persons. However this time the Colonials would be harder to detect, because of the armor that this version of Raptor carried on her hull. Along with some of the higher technology systems built inside of it. Over the years the ground crews, pilots, and a few others had had the time to test and then tinker with the systems that a Raptor could carry into harm's way.

She took more time looking around her cockpit checking each and every setting and switch a second and third time before moving on to the next phase of the operation. When she was ready, and she knew that her systems were ready, she let her ECO know it was time for him to start his part of the mission.

"Okay Skulls. I am locked down and secure. What do you see out there?" Now she could only wait to see what she would have to do next.

Skulls was working both the Colonial made systems and the Earther supplied ones. He was working with all the skill he had amassed over the years. All of those years that he had been training and practicing those skills for no apparent reason. A saying the Earthers had brought the fleet came to mind and he repeated it in his head.

 _He was busier than a one armed paper hanger._

He took note of the query from the Raptor's pilot and mission commander, but did not respond immediately. He would not say anything, not until he was ready. Besides, he had some of the high risk assessments that he still needed to check out.

Skulls looked up and over to the pilot when she cleared her throat for the second time in less than five minutes. Rather than speak he only held up one finger, and only to acknowledge her desire to communicate.

This would buy him a few more minutes, just to make sure that he had done his job satisfactorily. He could have dragged it out longer, but he was too much of a pro to pull a game like that. At least not on such an important or even historic mission that this one was.

After all, they were the only crew to have done this job before. Jumping into a star system that might be hostile, but definitely full of unknowns. He was just happy that they were going to get free drinks in the bar again after this mission was done. And only if they pulled it off to the Old Man's standards. Free drinks were always the best drinks a person could have.

"Okay Racetrack, we are behind the target planet. I am picking up one metal object at the planet's north pole and it's slowly working its way down to us in a polar like orbit. I'm barely getting a reading off of it, even this close. We will need to either wait for it to pass, or use the RCS to get out of the frakking thing's way."

"I'm also recording a good bit of back scatter on the radio detector. The third planet is on the other side of our little shield so we should have a good line of sight. At least, when you finally get us around this big frakker of a gas ball."

Skulls had a light tone in his voice as he gave the pilot his update. He knew that every word was being recorded and was going to be reviewed later. He did not want to catch too much trouble for selecting a few words that were wrong.

That did not mean he could not poke some fun at the pilot. That was something an ECO was supposed to do whenever they could get away with it.

"Frak," slipped out of Racetrack's mouth before she could stop it. Having an Earther space probe near them, that was so not in the plan the Old Man had approved.

This was a stealth mission above and beyond anything else. It had to be very stealthy, or they were toast. She had been talked to by the entire chain of command from the CAG all the way up to the Old Man about keeping this mission on the down low.

"Hang on people, firing RCS in three... two... one." She hit the button as the last word left her lips and small jets built into the craft's skin started to fire. It quickly added a bit of oomph to the craft, both bringing it out of the gas giant's shadow and getting it out of the way of the still approaching space probe with large solar panels.

If a Cylon system would have had a hard time seeing the jets, the old space probe did not have a chance in hell of spotting them. The probe kept going, happy to be in its assigned obit. It did not notice the fifty ton space craft that was moving away from it in two different orbital planes.

Besides, most of the probe's data collectors were now just looking down at the planet taking images of the pretty clouds. Whatever data its instruments picked up from the space around it, it could care less about the visitor from outside of the star system.

The craft was silent as a hole in space as it moved across the colorful striped planet. It did not take long, and they were well past the radiation belt of the massive planet. That was when Racetrack asked for another update from her ECO.

"Okay Skulls, how do we look now?" If things turned much worse, then she was going to have to abort the mission and go back to the barn earlier than she had planned on.

Skulls had his head on a swivel looking over the screens that now covered almost three sides of his workspace. It took him a few seconds to look at everything twice. When he was sure, he looked over to the front of the craft for only a few seconds.

"My scopes are clear. I think we're go for the start of Phase Two. All data recorders are operational, and the backups are reading as online and ready."

Skulls was back pushing buttons and flipping switches as he spoke to his pilot and the craft's recorders. He could not afford to only do only one thing at a time. Not on this mission. He knew that in a lot of ways this system could be more dangerous than if they had been only spying on a real Cylon military base.

Racetrack took in the information she was hearing through her suit's built in helmet speakers. It was her call as the mission commander to decide if they should move to the next phase or not but she was also smart enough to know that she did not have all the experience to make the call on this type of mission all on her own.

She was good, the best in the fleet, but this was not a normal sneak and peek operation. She had been very surprised that she was given this mission and not Athena but she was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when she was offered a chance to make it into the history books, again.

"Okay, ladies. We now have a valid line of sight to the target, but we are about thirty-four light minutes out. It's your call. Are we a go, or not?"

Margaret held her breath as she asked the specially trained people in the cargo compartment of her little craft. They could pull the plug and this mission was done, no matter what she thought. The reason that she was picked to be the pilot for this part of the mission was because she was smart enough to know when to know and how to react when she was in over her head. Oh, and she was lucky. Sometimes being lucky mattered more than raw skill.

The upgraded Raptor was carrying a total of five people on today's mission. Racetrack, Skulls, Athena, Kathy, and one of the smartest up and coming programmer-hackers in the fleet. His real name was Andrew Boxman but he went by the nickname Boxey. The three of them where strapped into the highly modified cargo bay of the Colonial made and supported craft.

The three of them had been working together for years now. It almost seemed like they were one person, and not three separate people, when they were working on the same task. Kathy had the only unobstructed view of the pilot's seat, so she was the one to give a thumb sign up to the pilot.

This one hand gesture was all that she needed to give. It showed that they wanted to proceed to Phase Two now. That is, if it was okay with the pilot and mission commander.

Then again, she had been called crazy before, and she had come a long way from being that Cylon lost on a cold wet planet. That was so far from here, Kathy did not even think about that part of her. It was more of a dream or possibly a nightmare.

With the signal from the experts, Margaret made her decision on what to do with this mission. Racetrack turned back around to face the huge clear cockpit. Now, she could let the smile she had been hiding find its place on her face.

She had caught frak when word had gotten out about her chair dance, back when she had first found what would be called New Caprica. She would just have to stay at least stillish on this mission.

"Okay. We are a go for Phase Two. Firing Icarus One-class probe and diverting partial power from engines to the support systems in three, two, one. Skulls, keep an eye on the power management bus! If it even starts to look like it wants to overheat, let me know right frakking away!"

The three people started working on the shoehorned in workstations that took up the rest of the small cargo bay the craft was built with. There was barely enough room left open to move about the inside of the craft. The two Cylons each attached a data cable into their consoles and literally plugged the other end into ports hidden in their arms.

Boxey did the same, but his port was hidden in his hairline. It had been put in his head by one of the Earther doctors at his request. It allowed him to interface with computers at the same speed and with the same ease as the Cylons. Once jacked in, the three of them stopped moving. Despite looking more like corpses or in some sort of deep sleep, in fact they were putting in brain sweat to complete a mission.

Skulls watched the three of them closely and their medical readouts even closer. One screen acted as his interface to the three of them while they worked inside the computers.

What he was seeing creeped Skulls out but he did the job. Just as it was asked of him. He just pushed the skin crawling sensation down, and locked it in a mental box in the back of his mind.

These three were the only ones in the craft who did not have space rated suits on. It would have interfered with how the three of them intended to complete their mission. It was a risk, one the three passengers had accepted.

Skulls knew that not only the mission, but the future of his people were at risk. That did not count the six billion humans living on the blue rock in this system if the Cylons found them. Also if he missed something, and they took a hit that cracked their hull, these three would most likely die before he could patch the damage. If the rock was big enough or the locals found them and hit them with a nuke, all five of them were dead before they knew it.

The three computer experts knew that Skulls was not comfortable with the job that he had been given. So Athena talked with Kathy and Boxey and came up with something that would make it easier on their minder. Every four to five minutes they would take turns opening their eyes and giving the watching human a sign that they were okay. Then they would get back to the hard work of completing their mission.

The three of them were doing two things at once. The first was that they were trying to hack into the world wide information grid of the nearby planet.

That was easier said than done. At thirty-four light minutes out, each transmission would take thirty-four minutes to reach Earth's information network. Similarly any reply back would also take thirty-four minutes.

That was what Icarus One was for. The probe itself was barely the size of a Centurion's thigh but it was encased in what was essentially a Viper's high performance thruster mated to a Raider's compact mass lightening antigravity system. Its purpose was to proceed into Earth's vicinity where it could use its radio transceiver to maintain a low lag connection to the networks while using its Wireless transceiver to stay in touch with the Raptor.

It was a giant risk, but it was also deemed an acceptable and unavoidable one. To minimize the chances of being discovered, its builders had built a massive baffling system to hide the thruster's drive flare. And it was all disposable.

By the time the probe clears the asteroid belt, it would have shed the thruster and its massive baffles. At that point it would have been decelerating using both the antigravity system and jury-rigged RCS thrusters for quite some time.

It would even cheat by using Earth's gravity well to bleed off even more speed. Looping around the planet a couple of times at high speed just above the atmosphere before settling into the zone between Earth and its moon. For all intents and purposes just another inert orbital body. By then the turn around time of transmissions between Earth and the Colonial scouting party would be instantaneous.

While the three hacked into the worldwide network, they also watched out for any information that might help them with their task farther down the road. Time stretched out as they worked. Over time, the transmission and return times got shorter thanks to Icarus One, but it was changing slowly from the three passenger's point of view.

With Icarus One moving ahead at high speed, the space plane was to keep going deeper into the solar system at a much slower pace. Trying to find a nice rock to hide behind, hopefully in what they knew the locals called a Trojan orbit. A second, much simpler probe would be released once such an object was found. One that could stay within line of sight Icarus One while the Raptor itself ducked into its newly found hiding place.

It would take hours to get there at the speed they were going, but the lag time would get shorter and shorter as the distance between probe and planet dropped. They had hoped to jump closer to this Earth, say like around the red planet. But it did not take long to figure out that there were a lot more probes of unknown capabilities in orbit and on the surface of the planet.

They also knew about the Trojan orbit bodies but they did not have enough data to plot a jump to one. And with the red or blue planet in line of sight, the jump might be picked up. That was why they jumped into the shadow of the gas giant, and Plan B was activated.

This way they could find the right rock to hide near. After enough time, they might even be able to jump directly there. Thus saving the time and fuel of the long slow trip to the hiding point from the dark side of the gas giant.

By the time the Raptor had left the red planet's orbit behind them, the three computer experts had broken into the planet's World Wide Web. They did it by using something called AOL, which Kathy had found. They went through an older high orbiting communication satellite, which Boxey had been able to localize all on his own. It was slow, but soon they each were able to start searching for data that their people needed on this interlaced network.

They first went looking for any and all data about possible threats in orbit around the blue world. They quickly found out that they were not the only ones looking for this type of information in the virtual space of the information web. Each of the three had a list of subjects that they needed to research.

After spending some time fending off cyber-attacks from different locations on the planet's surface, they decided to pull out of the system for a while. They needed to do some regrouping and rethinking about how they wanted to proceed. They had not expected to have to spend more time in defense filling the data points the Admiral had wanted filled.

Skulls about jumped out of his skin when the three started moving all at once, and without any warning that they were finished with the data mining. By the time his heart rate was starting to level off again, the three had disconnected from the computers they had been working with. Boxey was stretching and making lip smacking noises with visibly dry lips.

Skulls watched in no little amount of amazement as the Cylon Kathy passed over her water bottle to the orphan teenager before taking a drink herself. Skulls made a mental note to pass along that bit of information to his higher command. He had heard rumors that the crazy Cylon had kind of adopted and started looking after the orphaned kid.

It was Boomer who had first taken the child in and made arrangements for his accommodations aboard the battlestar. After her death and subsequent resurrection among the Cylons though, the boy had simply fallen through the cracks. Old enough to take care of himself and stay out of trouble but still too young to be considered properly employable on a major warship, he had settled into doing odd jobs for the crew. Tyrol had supposedly kept distant tabs on him, but the Chief eventually had problems of his own, particularly after arriving at New Caprica.

Apparently, the boy had somehow attracted the Cylon's attention, supposedly after taking some computer classes. To Skulls' mind, she was acting like the teenager's guardian. He was getting the motherly vibe from the Cylon.

The more Skulls thought about it, the more it explained his amazing computer skills. Maybe he was learning it from a race well known for their computer skills in the first place. Or maybe he already had a knack for it and associating with the Cylons was allowing him take his talent to the next level. Whatever worked.

Skulls could have done without the hole in the skull, though. In the old days, Boxey would not have needed such a radical operation. Colonial holoband technology was the precursor to the Cylons' direct interface. It was still around, mainly for training, but it was vastly reduced in functionality, and restricted to military use.

Both Kathy and Athena checked on the boy, smiling at him and ruffling up his hair. Skulls could tell that the kid both liked the attention and did not like the hint that he was still a boy in their eyes. Skulls went back to working on his consoles, but inwardly thought the kid must have had a frakked up time going through puberty.

The female looking Cylons were very attractive, if you could get over the fact that they were part machine. Then again, most of the people they had picked up from Rifts Earth also had some kind of cybernetic implant in their bodies.

Skulls gave a shrug that his space suit did not visibly show to anyone in the small craft. He was thinking that maybe it mattered more about what people did than what was added to their bodies.

After checking on the youngest of the group and seeing that he was okay after his deep trip into a massive computer network, Athena carefully moved closer to talk to the Pilot. She did not need or want to use the built in communications system that was attached to her ear.

After being in a computer for so long, she wanted and needed to talk to someone face to face. She felt it kept her grounded in the real world, without getting lost in the virtual sea. This was something that her team had found might become a problem.

Athena leaned forward till she was almost to the pilot's shoulders. There was not that much room left in the small craft after their equipment was fitted in. She tried to say something but it did not come out as words. She regrouped and took a second big slug of water from her bottle, before trying again.

"Racetrack. We're done for now."

Margaret tuned to look at the woman, and she looked wiped out to her eyes. "Are you sure?"

Athena was shaking her head side to side and she almost fell over and away from the pilot. "I think we got a lot of what the Old Man wanted before we left. We will need to download it and go over it in detail, put it into some kind of useful order. How long do you think it will be 'til we can jump out?"

Athena was bone deep tired. She could not wait to take a shower and see her kids. Not necessarily in that order. First thing she wanted to do was get out of this Raptor. Anything after that was going to be negotiable.

Racetrack listened to the rapid fire words coming from the other Raptor qualified pilot off her right shoulder. She was about to make a crude comment until she noticed the other woman was doing the universal dance of a female needing to go to the restroom. Seeing the female moving that way caused Margaret's own bladder to let her know that it was time for her to use the same facilities. The craft did not have a facility to do that kind of business.

On long flights, she could use the tubes if she was connected to the ship's systems. Or she could use the always popular diaper she was supposed to put on before putting on the space suit. Suffice it to say that neither of those options were particularly enjoyable to use. It was just sometimes a girl had no other option, and she did what she had to do.

Racetrack did a half turn and gave a slight nod. She turned enough for the other woman to see her face. Margaret gave her a very slight nod and a wink to let the tired and distressed woman know that she understood and agreed with her.

"Spinning up the drive now. Skulls, are we clear of any observation from artificial satellites or from the planet itself? We need a go or no go for jumping out of here."

There was no way that Skulls could have heard what Athena had said to the pilot, and he did not need to know. He had just been given orders from his pilot, and he went over them see to if he could comply with those orders or not. She might be the pilot in command, but if the craft was not safe to jump, it was his job to let her know the hows and whys.

Skulls checked and rechecked his systems before answering the pilot. It took him only a handful of minutes to get the information he needed. "We are clear and safe to jump. We can go when you're ready Racetrack. This rock would block Colonial or Cylon systems from seeing us jump and the fourth planet has no line of sight either."

Four minutes later, the little scout craft popped out the Sol system and back to the almost tertiary star system that the old battlestar was waiting in. It was only a little over four light years away from the Sol system. The little hunk of rock and ice had hidden the slight flash perfectly, so that no one on Earth would notice the jump drive engage on the scout craft.

* * *

Three hours later the second Raptor would return to the flagship. A review of the data it had collected would show that it had not detected the entire mission of the first Raptor. That finding was both impressive and sobering. The second craft had known about the first bird and had been looking for any sign of it in the system.

After passing the challenge and password test, the craft made a least time approach to the flagship of the human fleet. Racetrack was all business as she put the small craft on landing pads on the port side of the old warship.

In the back of the craft, things were just as busy. The data recorders started transmitting data to the mother ship, straight to the analysis room, even before the Raptor had completed landing procedures. This was done so that the processing could start without any delay in waiting for the craft to land. Or any delay in the unloading of the craft, after it had made its way into the only flight pod on the ship.

Four hours after landing, a meeting was held. This time it was in the Admiral's private quarters instead of a more public venue. It was a tight fit to get all of the required people into that room but it was one of the few rooms where they would not have to worry about being interrupted by actively nosy people. The ones who might think they had a need to know.

Only a handful of people in the whole fleet would have the full load of crazy needed to knock on Bill Adama's cabin door much less open it without an invitation. After the assessment of what had been found in the Sol system had been given, it took a few minutes for Bill to gather his thoughts together. It was a lot of information but very little in the way of processed intelligence. In other words, it was not that much of a help.

He used getting a refill of water and fruit juice mix to buy him the time he wanted to use so that he could think. After returning to his seat, he looked at the small group of people in his living space. He could not take too long, or the wrong people would start to get worried. When some of them started to worry, it tended to cause a lot of issues for him and Laura. The one good thing in all this was that Lee was stuck with the rest of the fleet and not him.

 _Well, I need to get this over with,_ thought to Bill as he looked into his glass. He really only had two options to work with. But which one fit his people's need the best?

"Okay. So you three had no issue getting into the planet's information grid. How sure are you that it was not a trap of some kind? Would you have known what to look for? What if they had known you were there, and wanted to run some kind of game on you three?"

Bill now looked at the three cyber attackers. Boxey had not said one word after he had enter the room. He was too scared to open his mouth near The Admiral Bill Adama. That did not mean that his face and body language did not yell to those who knew how to read them.

Right about then, Boxey was yelling at the insult being given to his and his mentor's computer skills but he did keep his mouth shut. Bill noticed and read the body language, and also noted that the boy had held his tongue. He marked that up too, it put Kathy's parenting skills in a very good light.

Kathy would also have taken offense at those questions if they had come from just about anyone else in the fleet but him. She would have taken them to the ring and had them put the gloves on for a round or three.

"Sir, it was very easy to enter the net. That is, after we found an access point. That was the hardest part, but after that, it was like taking candy from a baby. The security on accessing their grid was almost was nonexistent. What we did run into, was that after we hit some of the military sites, someone started trying to backtrack us. From what we believe..." Athena pointed to the other two computer experts in the room.

"They were people, or groups of people, who wanted to hack us back. Some might have been military or government related, but we are not sure. We did not have enough time to find out, not with everything else we had to do. We found that they were using what they call VPN to hide their attacks, and we copied the code. With some work, it should stop them from being able to spot us so quickly like that again. That's for the next time we go in. I will say as a Cylon, that VPN software was some ingenious coding in that program we copied. With this, and some other modified coding we're going to be looking at, we should have a better defense when we go back in. I don't think it was a trap or them looking for us, as in Colonials. I think it was just a reaction to new people on the net."

Bill nodded his head and turned to Racetrack straight on. "Okay Margaret, it's your turn. What is your plan for the next mission?"

Racetrack pulled a collapsible pointer out of her uniform's pocket, and put the end on a large printed image of the third planet and its large moon. It was spread out, over and down all four sides of the desk in the room. It was the first item brought out for the meeting, but this was the first time it was to be referenced.

"We scanned, in the highest detail that we could, the target and we've cleared the area around this moon that the locals call Luna. I think we will come in with a jump about here. It is on what the locals call the dark side of the moon because it always faces away from the planet. We know of only one still operational probe that is on the surface and we will be well below the visible horizon of that probe at all times. After we jump in system, and if we do not detect any threat. I will lower my altitude to about three clicks above the surface of this moon. When I've reached the target altitude, I will move along about this course, and come to a stop about sixteen clicks from the day to night terminus line."

Her pointer stopped moving, as it came to the area of the image that was the line between the darker side of the image and the brighter side.

Racetrack looked up from the map. "My ECO will run a full passive sweep again after we've stopped. If it's clear, and safe, then I'll move on to the next step. I'll move over the line, and stop around fifty clicks into the day side of the moon. I want to find a nice big crater I can put the ship down in. We should be invisible to any telescopes that might just happen to be pointed our way from orbit or the planet's surface and Icarus One should still be there. I think they will have to be really frakking lucky to spot us in the limited time we will be in motion. If they do spot us, it could only be that they've been tracking us all along. When it's time to leave, I'll just go through the same steps in reverse."

Her hand and pointer stopped moving and she looked up at the fleet commander. She licked her lips, trying to get a read on her commander. She realized that she was just drawing a blank and now she felt like she was starting to look dumb.

"That is my basic plan, Sir."

She and her crew had worked very hard, and this was the best plan that they could come up with. The Admiral had been doing this longer than any of the people in this fleet was alive. So maybe he had some ideas they might have missed. Racetrack was counting on her ability to be able to adjust on the fly to complete any mission that he gave her the parameters for.

Bill looked over his glasses at the young woman. He had been deliberately keeping a lid on any reactions he might have to the younger officer's plan. He was using this as a training and growth exercise for the pilot and mission commander.

He was a firm believer in doing as many things at the same time as he could get away with. Besides, he could not come up with a better plan. At least, one that could complete the mission requirements that he needed fulfilled.

"I agree with your plan. I think you should plan on taking Number Two next time. They have fixed the Earther modified chemical toilet, and have already re-installed and tested the blasted thing. Do you think you will be ready to go back to Sol on the next shift?"

Bill had already known about the bladder issue that the first mission had encountered. It was too good of a story not to have already made it to the ship's grapevine. He did not blame the crews. He hated using the tubes himself, much less the diaper.

Besides, they were able to complete the mission enough that it was worthwhile to come back to the barn. With this issue discovered, he had taken steps to fix it for any succeeding mission using the overloaded craft.

The fleet commander did not have to say more. The Number Two was the call sign for the other modified Raptor with the Earther inspired ESM and the modified hacking systems. It was set up for long term scouting missions.

It also had a not so nice name hung on it after some of the Earthers saw the plans for the bird. The ground crews just called this bird 'The Crapper' from then on. Racetrack had a side bet on how long it would be before that name was used on the air or a mission briefing of some kind.

Racetrack just gave a sly grin. "Yes Sir. The flight crew will be ready after some rack time and some chow. I will put the flight plan together, and send it to CIC for final review." She was very proud that the Old Man had approved her plan without any changes.

Bill nodded his head up and down. "Good. Now if you all would leave us. I need to talk to Captain Kelly alone."

The rest of the room gathered up their briefing items, and filed out. Soon they were all leaving the two men alone in the Admiral's cabin. They all had had a long day and now knew that in another twelve hours they would be doing it all over again.

After the hatch had closed behind the small group, Bill waited a little longer before saying anything that he wanted to keep private.

"So what do you think, Kelly?"

It was a simple query that came from the Admiral. As with most things Bill said it might have been only a few words, but it was loaded in meaning or depth. Bill was leaning back in his chair watching the other man. Bill was not surprised that Kelly was watching him very closely. He had only been waiting for the right time to address the Admiral.

"I think we should still stick with the Ajax series. I want to check a few things out on the latest data just a little deeper to know for sure. Right now, I'm thinking that if we do make contact, we should not tell, but also not hide, the facts about what the Rifts did to my Earth. It's going to be a tightrope covered in butter to walk on but I think it would be best if we leave it as just an old bit of historical information for the time being. When facts about my world do comes out, I think that we should just link it back to any other natural disaster in both of our peoples' past."

Kelly and his people had spent a lot of time thinking about how to tell any would be Earths about what had happened to their Earth. It had been discussed and extrapolated almost to death. They had not come up with any way or plan that got back a hundred percent positive. This way had turned out to be the one that caused the least problems on the front of a first contact.

"I agree and so does Laura. At least for now. You know it's going to get out sooner or later. Will you be on shift later?" Bill was looking at the other officer and powerful political leader within the Rag Tag Fleet.

Kelly smiled and just gave him a look that said it was a strange question to ask him. "Of course, and it makes it easier to review certain files." Both men knew that they both would be checking the files coming out of the Earth office that was inside the part of the battlestar that had been known as the Lucky Find. And they would be doing it as soon as each new file was released.

The two men spent the next few hours reviewing and making small notes on the different plans that had been drawn up on what to do next. It was an active and ongoing process and it would be repeated at least after every brief, occasionally even several times a day. The modifications would depend on the data that was being recovered and processed.

Three more missions to the Sol system were launched over a span of only six days. In the span of seven days, a total of five missions that were each at least eight hours long had been launched.

Each one of those missions brought back more and more information. The first hack and pull had brought back the equivalent of almost a hundred text books, and each succeeding mission after that doubled the amount of data recovered. All of which had to be worked through by the Earth staff at least twice.

Duplicate data was identified, verified, and then removed, but conflicting data was marked before being added to the rapidly growing database. New requirements were then added for the group doing the data mining of the planet's information network.

What stopped any more missions from being launched into the human occupied star system was that the small fleet of ships, and the flagship, needed to return to the rest of Colonial ships that had been left behind. It they had deviated from the original time table, it would have caused issues, both morale wise and politically. Most would have considered being gone a week as pushing what might cause troubles. Bill had always loved going on a lone mission, or as close as you could get to being alone as a battlestar's commander was allowed.

After the little fleet of ships returned back to the rest of the fleet orbiting around Tau Ceti, it still was a very busy time for the crews that called those ships home. The Admiral had to catch up on the administrative work that had built up while he was in the other star system. The fuel ships were busy refining or crossloading the volatile fuel to other ships. And the crews in the labs were processing the data and answering the constant flow of pinpoint questions coming from command or the political leadership.

That would not have been so bad, but it was the questions coming from other places around the fleet that were starting to cause the most issues for the people doing the data mining. That is until Sophia put a stop to that growing major waste of time, and advised that a formal briefing be held. A time was set by the President and every one else's schedule was modified to fit around that.

Two weeks after returning to the twin planet system is when the briefing to a wider audience was to be held. This would hopefully give Sophia and Athena time to go through some of the data and get an idea on how to reply to some of the big questions they had been asked. It would also give the briefers time to work out the politically way to tell them to back the frak off.

They were running scouting missions back to the blue planet's moon every other day directly from Tau Ceti now. Each mission lasting between ten and twelve hours. That was not counting the travel time between the fleet and that planet. The only difference was in flight crews, and that Athena and Kathy were taking turns supporting the taskings at the pointy end of the mission.

Boxey worked twelve on and twelve off, and it did not matter how often they talked to him about it. He was having a blast, he thought of it as fun and games. Plus he liked both the extra pay and attention he was getting, when he was not pulling a shift on the scouting Raptors. Teenage hormones can make a boy do some of the craziest, dumbest, or maybe the bravest things in the world.

* * *

Bill, Laura, and Kelly stayed seated in their chairs as they watched the briefers file out of the room. They were followed by the limited numbers of the press who had not been allowed to ask questions or just record the event. It had taken some sleight of hand to make sure that some of the worst political monkeys did not find out about the briefing that had just finished. That very touchy job had to be done by Laura's staff, with some help from some of Captain Kelly's people that were not in military fields.

Now they could just view the recordings in their cabins without having to distract or direct the meeting in a way that Laura and Bill did not want or have time to. Those two briefers had just wanted to get some general information put out. If someone wanted detailed information, they all knew where to look to find it. This meeting also announced that the data miners were not going to be answering any questions for the foreseeable future.

Within a day at most, there were going to be people offering their time, for a price, to do the data mining. If they were caught using government paid time and computers to make money on the side there would be frak to pay, and it would be Athena who was going to do the collecting. Then they would be fired, and turned over to the Colonial police for fraud against the Colonial Government and Colonial Navy.

When they were long gone and the hatch was locked again, Bill looked down at some notes in front of him that were both handwritten and printed out. He made notes on an area of one of the rectangle off yellowish colored sheet of paper. Obviously not Colonial made.

"So it looks like Ajax Five is the way to go. We could try Ajax Nine?" Bill looked over his glass to the other three as he spoke.

Laura was biting her lower lip and took a few minutes to say anything. She was not sure what the right way to go was.

This was one of those decisions that would be marked down in the history books for centuries. Those books would not just be taught in Colonial schools either. They would be debated from both positive and negative points of view.

"Are we sure that we will be able to buy an independent area of land? One that we could set up our own government on, without causing a war?"

This had been Kelly's part of the plan to work out. He had a very sly smile on his face for a second before it went bland.

He had been very pleased with his and his staff's work on this part of the plan. He was even more pleased that they had been able to keep it so close hold. That it had not leaked to the press yet.

"Yes. We found several precedents in my ship's records, and from some of the information we pulled during our forays into the local information grid last week. We can start landing on these two planets and setting up a real home. Well, a home for a few years, if we need to. We can use this Earth as a support and supply base for at least the bulk and essential items that we are going to need for rebuilding."

Kelly made a sour face, and leaned back in his chair. It was a nice chair, made by his people while they were hiding. "I like Ajax Five, better for what we need to do, versus Ajax Nine or any of the other Ajax plans, but you all know that this could change our social dynamic completely, right?"

"Then it is Ajax Five. Okay so where do we look to buy enough land to fit our needs? And how are we going to pay for it?" Laura was looking at Bill, who gave his own final nod of agreement.

Laura was always for getting down to brass tacks after her mind had been made up. It was nice that all three of them had agreed to a plan without having to work it to death for another hour. She also knew about this social dynamic the Captain was referring to. She was worried about a possible breaking off of a chunk of their already too small population.

Kelly reached under the desk into an area that was not so much a hidden as it was just out of the way from any moving legs. Legs that might brush by it before or after the briefing. He pulled out a thick roll of paper, and unrolled a large printed map that was a mix of data. All of the information that it held had been gathered by the Raptors' passive systems, and recovered from the planet's worldwide network. It was a huge map, and was shown to be double sided after he quickly flipped it over to the side he wanted to talk about first as he stood up from his chair.

"From what we know about what happened during the Dark Ages that the Rifts kicked off on my planet, we want to avoid some areas of the planet right off the bat. This is just in case those Rifts are still coming some time in the unknown future. I would like to spend the time now, and it not be needed than cost lives down the road by doing shortsighted things." Kelly wanted to plan for the worst, and hope for the best.

He ran a pointer along the coast of one of the major bodies of water on the world. It was bordered by five major landmasses. "When Atlantis returned, it made the sea level rise, and sent out an unknown number of massive tidal waves. They moved out from a single point and destroyed most of the large cities on coasts all around the world. So I would say that we avoid low coastal areas. They also just happen to be the major population centers, so finding enough land in one chuck will be harder. I would bet that it would be a lot more expensive as well as being riskier. From what we have been told by Plato's stories, we also know that there were massive earthquakes and volcanic eruptions all along the major tectonic plates of the planet. So I would say avoid this so called Ring of Fire on this edge of the planet as well."

Kelly had been pointing to some areas that he was thinking were not worth the risk for their people to take over. "I think the sections of Africa and Russia are not stable enough for us at this time to occupy. I know that Cuba was totally sunk, and then raised again. So I think it's out or off our short list as well. Australia might be a possibility. If we stay out of this central low area behind this set of mountains. I am given to understand that it was flooded by the sea, along with the west coast for the same reasons. The possible floods. The east coast has some nice and tall mountains, which might work. It does have a higher population density than I'm comfortable with. I have looked at the local laws there, and I don't think it's a good long term plan for independence from the already set up governing body."

Bill was watching the moving pointer as it crossed the printed map, but did not look up at the other officer that had taken a pause from speaking. "That does not leave much land area to work with, Kelly. You were the one who spent the most time looking at this, so give already. You're beating around the bush, Kelly, and you know it."

Bill knew that Kelly would not be talking about the downchecked areas without having some areas that he liked more than others. For some reason however, Kelly was going into a lot more detail about the areas he did not like. That could only mean that the area he did like was going to have a few issues or raise a lot of eye brows. Most likely it was going to cause both to be in abundance.

Kelly smiled a friendly smile to a person that was his equal, but who also sometimes was his boss. He did have a point. "More than you think. On my Earth, I never made it over to this side of the world, but I did have contacts with a group that headquartered their operations out of that area. I was told that they were calling themselves the New Navy. From what I was able to find out and understand, they were a remnant from this group called the United States. They had bases in different places spread out in the Pacific Ocean and a few other places. Places they did not talk about to strangers. Now I don't know the exact locations of any of them, but I might have worked out some safer places. Ones that might work for us on this Earth. Even if the Rifts don't come to this planet, they have some advantages that are very appealing to our needs."

Laura looked at Bill, and shot him a look. When she turned to the briefer, she had a sweet smile on her face that was not fake. "Okay then, Kelly. Let's start with those areas, instead of all the places that you think have a higher amount of risk."

Kelly had a huge smile on his face as he flipped over the map to the other side, even as she spoke. It was focused in higher detail on one part of the body of water called the Pacific Ocean. It was a very detailed and very large picture of a pair of islands with a reef lined lagoon. The water looked to be so blue it should have hurt your eyes if you looked at it too long, and the greens were bright enough to make your heart sing.

"These are the islands of Raiatea and Taha'a. Right now they have very low population levels of about eighteen thousand people, with a very high percentage of land that is available for purchase on the local open market. The pair of islands cover one hundred and two square kilometers of dry land inside a large coral reef lagoon that circumnavigates the pair of islands. It would take some time and money to move the limited population, but it's a small number given the size of the total land area we are talking about. This area is a tourist focal point, but not as popular as other islands in the local area."

Kelly stopped talking for a few seconds to let the others look at the map he had printed out and then very carefully hidden for them. "Now I would tell you, I would not want to be anywhere near anything on this planet's surface come twenty-first of December twenty-ninety-eight, but we could use this as a base until then. Maybe even work on making it ready for that event. That is, should it come to pass. It will take some extra work, but it's workable. What sold me on the idea is the mountain that makes up the larger of the two land masses. Also, it is far away from the major governments on the planet, so that they'll have to think and plan real hard if they get itchy over us being in the local area."

Kelly reached into a folder that had been sitting by his right elbow and pulled out three sets of three page documents. "This is an informational packet that was on the planet's network. It might help answer some of your questions. Or maybe prompt you both to ask others you all might not have thought of yet but might come up later."

Kelly was already thinking that it was going to be hard to stop the tidal wave of his people who would want to make this planet their new home. It was a case of open skies or metal cans.

Laura was making ohh and ahh noises as she looked at some of the still images of the local area he had passed around the table before blurting out. "By the Gods! It is a paradise! Who would want to move from there without a gun pointed to their heads?" She had not even looked at the pages in her hands.

Kelly and Bill were a little confused because they had already discussed this a few times with her over the last two weeks. Bill did not say anything to address this issue. He liked sleeping with both eyes closed, so he punted the issue.

Kelly did not have to worry about that problem, so he just laid it out for her. He was thinking that if she had this reaction, then others in the fleet would have it also.

"Roslin, we found that amount of compensation that could be called life changing for almost everyone on the planet. Even if they were living in what they call a first world nation, they would agree that the number is life changing. We think that number is one million US Dollars in a lump sum offering. This area we're looking at? Only has a mean income equal to a few thousand US Dollars a year."

Kelly gave her a smile that was a little on the thin side. "As to how can we come up with that amount of money? As we discussed before, I went looking for items that we could trade but could not be linked to an off planet source. We have found that we have the standard silver, gold and others that are useful and also used by these people in trade. We could fund the purchase that way, but it would take tons of those metals to raise the kind of money we would need. I think we would crash the world's economy if we dumped that much product onto the planet in only a few months. I put together a list of trade items on the last page with an estimated price for a given amount of product."

Kelly had made sure that weapons were not on that list of items they could trade. He was still worried about the timeline. Trading weapons and armor was always a Plan B or C card they could put on the table at a later date. That is, if things worked out without a major exchange of weapons of mass destruction between them. The one thing he did not want to do was to face massed Colonial or even Rifter weapons if things went sideways on them after only a few months of being on this planet.

Kelly could see that Roslin was let down by the news, but he had a second card to play. So he gave the female leader a sly smile before pulling out his high card. He had noticed she had not turned to the page he had just referenced on trade items.

"Now, I would not tell you that if I didn't have a plan that might work to come up with most of the needed start-up funds discretely. First, we pulled about two kilos of Element 252 out of that one system we stopped at last year. You Colonials call it Kobolium. We used only a few grams of it, so far. We don't need that much of it in a year, so they only pulled a little bit off of that one rock. It was just enough to fill the smallest storage container the mining ships had on hand.

Kelly knew that he had the attention of both of them, and felt that it was time to lay more of the cards on the table. "On this planet, we found out that the Element 252 goes for about twenty-seven million US Dollars per gram. Those two kilos of rock we have in storage still won't get us all the way to the amount of capital we would need, though."

Now Kelly could not help but let a real smile come to his face. He was about to hit the woman in the mental stomach, and he knew he was going to catch frak for it. "Do you remember that vein of minerals that you all were so happy to find in Alpha Centauri? That is, until you found out there was only one person in the whole fleet who could cut them properly for you?"

Bill tilted his head and had a questioning look on his face. This was new information to him also, and that was not unlike Kelly to hold something like this back. When Laura did not rise to the bait Kelly was offering, he threw himself on the grenade. The bad part was that he knew he was throwing himself on a grenade.

"Are you talking about the Purple Firestone and the Aphrodite's Tears?"

After the words had fallen out of his mouth, Bill did a quick few blinks of his eyes before he asked what he thought Kelly was talking about. "They are known to this world also? How is that possible?"

The first way Bill's mind had gone was that maybe this planet was really a lost colony of Kobol after all. As far as anyone that had lived in the area of space that held the Colonies of Kobol knew those two types of gems could only be found in space based mining. They had never been found on a planet in the entire recorded history of their people.

Kelly smiled. _Boy,_ he thought, _if I was on the other side of this table, I could shear you like prized sheep, and you would never know it._

Kelly kept the smile on his face, but some of the thoughts needed to be locked deeper down in his mind. "Yes, but they are called Taaffeite and Painite gems on this world and not of course, what you call them. But they are the same gems. And before you ask, I had already checked the chemical makeup on both of them. They match perfectly with the data on them that was recovered from their information grid. The gemcutter Laura worked with already had about a dozen stones ready. They are in the four to eight carat ranges for each of the two types of gems. They are done with the finished polishing and ready for sale or mounting into jewelry. All we have to do is pay him for his time in working on the stones and for not saying anything about the work."

Bill now was smiling, but kept it under control, and Kelly understood that he had been played by the other military commander. Bill probably had been the one to order the stone cut already. He was betting that the cutter had told Bill about Kelly checking up on them and relayed any questions that he had asked the cutting.

Bill looked over at his almost wife and the smile fell. He was back into business mode. "So, I vote we go for the pair of islands."

Bill was met with two sets of nodding heads. They would try to buy these two islands in the South Pacific and turn them into the Colonial Ground Base. Now that it was voted on, they had to work out how to get it done. Bill was the first person to address this item.

"Who do you think should we use to be the go between? And how do we keep them in the dark about who we are and what we are planning?"

The last thing they wanted anyone on the planet to know was that they were dealing with aliens. By now the Colonials had seen too many shows and reports about how the locals might react to that little bit of information. The key for the early stages for Ajax Five was keeping the identity of the Colonials a secret for as long as possible. Mr. Grey had been very quick to point out that news of Extra Terrestrials could have a major negative impact on the planet's global markets and possibly the security of many of the world powers.

Kelly pulled out more papers from his folder, which by now was visibly thinner. "Sophia, Athena and Kathy came up with this list of contacts. They have them listed in the order that they think is the best for the tasks we have talked about. I reviewed it, and I agree with them. I read their reports on the top ten they had chosen."

Kelly looked around the table and his face was very stern looking. "We all have to be on board for this one. In case it falls apart."

He waited until each person had a copy of the pages and had time to look them over. If things came apart, each of them would have to take the blame for whatever had happened because of their decision. Kelly did not want to be the one that was thrown under the bus. He did not think these two would do that to him, but what would happen in the future when there was a changeover of power within this group of humans?

"Kathy was able to get into all of the companies' computer networks, but the top three groups of lawyers was the hardest to do that task on. They are also the ones who have a very good reputation in supporting their clients ethically. I think that this is the mix of traits that we would want to work with."

There had been thousands, if not tens of thousands of companies that might have done this type of work for the Colonials. In the end it had come down to just a few dozen that did not make Kelly's skin crawl.

Over the next hour, each of the fifteen different law firms was reviewed by the most powerful people in the whole Rag Tag Fleet. Finally they went back to the one Kelly had pointed out, and that was the one voted on. This would be the one firm they would go with to support Ajax Five.

They had two backups, just in case things did not work out with the first firm but they were both a distant second and third place respectively from their top pick. If the top three failed, that was going to be the time to get a little more pragmatic with their choices.

Kelly smiled as they came to a decision. "Okay, so it's the Australian firm then. I think we can be ready to go in two weeks. Are you both going to be ready?"

This part of the plan had not been written down, and had only been talked about among the three of them a few times. They were about to step off a cliff, and there was not a nice, deep and clear body of water to land into. Any landing was going to be on sharp and hard rocks.

Bill and Laura had been making noises about taking a vacation for some time now. This was the cover story for the two leaders of the fleet to be out of contact for a length of time.

In truth they were going to be the ones making first contact with a person from this Earth. It was just going to be that the local person would not know that he or she was talking with people that had been born on another planet. It was going to be like walking a tight rope in a windstorm.

############

Thank you to Sable Cold for coming up with the idea of the Icarus One probe, and the back story for Boxey to fill those plot holes I had left.


	19. Chapter 19 Fresh Air

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 19 Fresh Air**

Earth, Feb 2018, Over 6 Years After the Fall of the Colonies,

7 Years 11 Months AT, 39 Months and 3 Weeks After Leaving the Nebula.

James Garden was the most junior partner in the law firm that he worked for. To some, that might have meant that he was a in a very low level position in a law firm, but being the most junior partner at Ashly, Warner, and Thomas? This offered more pay and a lot more prestige than if he had been a managing partner in all but a handful of other law firms in the whole world.

That did not mean that he did not have to put in any fewer hours than any other junior partner in any of those other law firms had to. It was just that he got paid a lot more per hour than they did while they were working all of those extra hours. Having to work all of those extra hours still sucked.

That was the reason he was sitting in his nice office just as the sun finally cleared the famous Sydney Harbor Opera house that was also visible out of his office window. It was a million dollar view, as the saying went, and he enjoyed it immensely. No matter if he did complain sometimes about having the 'opportunity' to see that view in this fashion. It was an amazing view, and one that he had worked hard to get. So when his email chirped at him, he did not like the interruption into the beauty he was seeing spread out before his eyes. He waited a whole four minutes and thirty seconds before turning from the sunrise and opening the waiting email message.

As he read the new email, he was both perplexed and a little confused at what the words said on his high end computer. He had no idea who had sent the thing, and for a few long seconds, he thought about deleting it as just some junk mail, maybe a spear fishing trap or scam. Just like everyone else in the world, he got several dozen of those types of emails every week on his private email accounts. Then he reread the digital notice more closely for the third time. He had never gotten one of those types of emails on his office account.

It was a very simple email. It simply said that someone would like to set up a private meeting to discuss a potentially lucrative deal for him and his firm. The one caveat was that the deal must be kept very confidential. Any leaks would cause the deal to be broken and called off. There would be no second chances to be given to his firm at a later date. More to the point, there would no reimbursement to be given out, because of the breach of privacy on his firm's part.

James was intrigued, but also worried about the email. If it was not a spearfishing scam, it might be a set up in other ways that could be very unpleasant. Kidnapping was a rare crime at this level but it did happen. Even in this country that he called home.

He made a mental flip of the coin and replied to the email that he was very interested, if things were above board. He attached a few documents, standard fare to protect the firm. They just stated in a fancy way that the firm would not do anything that was against local or international law. One would be both surprised and shocked to find out what a law firm might be asked to do.

The attached files were not small, and they should have taken the person on the other end a few days to read and review all of them. As soon as James hit the send button, he had a slight smile on as he spun around in his very expensive chair, going back to enjoying the view that was still playing outside of his windows. He had several more hours before his bosses came into office anyway. He just thought that he might as well enjoy the peace before the stress of a new day got into full swing.

That thought was still in his mind right up to the second that his email chirped at him again. This time he did not wait for any measurable amount of time before returning his gaze to the computer screen. It took only a second to know who had sent this email. It was the reply to the email he had just sent out. It should not have been possible, but there it was, sitting in his digital inbox clear as day when he glanced over at the computer screen on his desk.

It was an even shorter email than the first one had been. It simply said, "Agreed," and included a set of map coordinates and a date with a meeting time. That date was in two days. James took a few minutes to grasp what he was seeing. He had not gotten this job based on his looks, he was also very smart and quick on his feet. He quickly put the location data into a computer program that came preloaded with his computer. In only a few seconds, mostly due to him mistyping a few of the numbers, he found the location of the meeting. It turned out to be a beach just south of the Brisbane city limits. He took some notes, and then pulled out his cellphone to call one of the senior partners.

This was not a computer phishing scam. Something big was up, and he needed to let someone with a bigger paycheck know about it. He was confident that he had done his job as the gate keeper. If this turned out to be a waste of time, he was pretty sure that it would not reflect that badly on him.

Kathy was grinning like the cat that had just eaten the prize winning songbird, and it was very tasty indeed. The lawyer had no idea that she had hacked his computer and was watching him through the built-in camera on his own monitor. She could even hear what he was saying under his breath, picked up by the built-in microphone on the computer not four feet from his knee. She had the target wired for sound and he did not even know it. She was having fun at playing this game. She gave the Earther pilot of the Raptor a thumbs up and then opened a Colonial built communication link to the second Raptor piloted by Racetrack.

"Racetrack, let your package know everything is set up. Target is sticking with his company SOP to the letter."

Kathy Eight was so happy with herself that she could have broken her arm with how hard she wanted to pat herself on the back. Now it was up to the crew on the second Raptor to exploit the opening that her team had made available to them. She was hoping that they would not frak it up, but if they did, Kathy thought that between her, Boxy and Athena, they could find another avenue of approach.

* * *

Racetrack smiled more at the sound of the voice than the information it had given her. She could picture the Cylon's face and predict what was going through her mind with a fair degree of accuracy. She even agreed with over half of what she was most likely thinking.

"Thanks, Kathy. I will pass it along. Stay safe up there and let them know that we are launching our part of the plan at this time. And gods help us!"

The last part was a dig. Kathy's pilot had lost out to her for getting to do the next part of the plan. The one task that would either go down in the history books big time as a great thing, or as the worst mistake in Colonial history. Either way, her name was going to be remembered and more than likely envied by thousands of future readers. Racetrack might have sounded relaxed and even cocky to the average listener who might review her flight data recorder later but she was firmly in the real world. She was sweating in her flight suit enough for it to feel like it should have started to pool in her flight boots deep enough to fish in. This was not going to be an easy approach, or even one that was by the book. As far as she could find out, there had never been a mission like she was about to perform written about anywhere in the whole history of her people.

She knew that she was going to have a boatload of advantages, but it was still not going to be an easy flight by any stretch of the imagination. She had been using a training simulation for a week already, and it still did not make her feel any better about what was awaiting her down below. She was about to test both her piloting skills and her craft's design to the very limit of her sanity. And it was not going to be a game. It was going to be deadly serious.

The very hard outer layers of the skin on her craft would make it harder to detect by radar. The built in Colonial systems would confuse anything else electronic that was in use around the local area she was about to fly through. The stealthiest way to approach the target area would have been to come into low orbit, and then use the AG plates. This would have allowed her to lower her craft down to the surface as fast at the pilot and crew could stand or live through the experience. That was how the book said it should be done.

It was just unfortunate that this approach would not work with all of the junk in orbit around this planet. So that was not going to be possible on this mission. A hit by a large piece of junk would cause a flash or flare. Even something as small as a fingernail would cause a release of energy that could be picked up by someone if they were looking in the right place at the right time. They were not worried about any damage a strike might make but a flash of any kind needed to be avoided at all cost.

Racetrack fired the RCS thrusters located at select points around her oddly shaped craft, and then she was headed towards the planet. She was coming from her hiding point in the moon's shadow. It had taken three days for the locals on this world to make the same trek she was about to make. She would be able to cover all of that distance in just under an hour.

Fifty-eight minutes later, she came in over what was called the Indian Ocean at the height of local night. She still left a fireball visible for between fifteen and twenty seconds as her craft bled off orbital speed in the thicker upper atmosphere, but that had been planned for when this flight plan was put together. She was away from any shipping lanes or flight paths that any of the locals were known to use, or had an active sensor of any kind pointed at. It was a very thin thread she was weaving through the night air.

Margaret was completely focused on her job, and the inside of the craft was coffin quiet. Everyone in the craft knew that she had a very thin needle to thread, if they were to limit any unwanted attention being directed at them. She was trying to make her fifty ton craft look like a rock or some other piece of space junk coming back home after a vacation in space. The comparably short trip from thirty-five-and-a-half thousand kilometers up to the time she was out of the fireball was only going to be about another fifty minutes of flying but it was a long, slow, and stressful fifty minutes of flying.

Racetrack took a deep and ragged breath after the last bits of plasma had cleared from around her cockpit enough to use visual reckoning again. She had never liked flying any part of a mission on just the built in instruments. Now that she could see the outside world again, the stress level lowered some, though not all the way. Not even close to going all the way back to a normal mission's level. Her eye was locked onto her screen and flipping every now and then slightly to check out the display being projected into her helmet and dashboard. Without breaking her pattern, she spoke into her helmet's built in mic. "Okay Skulls, anything I need to worry about?"

Skull's eyes were glued to his ECO equipment, just as much as Racetrack was on hers but he had been ready for the request for information from her. "Looks clear on all of my systems. You went down the pipe, center mass perfect! We are eighteen clicks and change above local surface level. We seem to be clear of any eyes all the way down to down to a hundred and fifty meters about the wave tops."

Margaret did not say anything. She just brought the AG plates to full power, and the small craft dropped like a stone towards the black waves below her feet. The only one who made a noise was a sharp squeal from the shortest but oldest female in the craft, Laura Roslin. This part called for a high stealth combat drop. It was not something that a sitting President of the Colonies was expected to have to deal with while in office. Very much unlike any other VIP bus trip she had been on. Then again, at least the Cylons were not trying to kill her.

As the Raptor fell through the thickening air, the pilot put some more power to the massive rear-mounted engines. It was not that much power, barely a trickle of what the pair were rated to produce but it was enough to have them flying at Mach 3 by the time she got to the height above the sea that she desired. Racetrack was not flying in a straight line as she cut across the ocean's surface just a hundred and fifty meters below the bottom of her craft, but again she was following a carefully planned out path so as to stay below any radar horizon in the local area. It was not a perfectly pre-planned run, Skulls would have to call out last second changes to keep them from being detected by some very powerful radar systems. All of the data her craft was picking up was recorded and it would be looked at when or if they got back to both the flagship and the rest of the fleet. It was hoped the additional data would make the anticipated additional trips down easier.

This is how they made their way all the way to the rugged western coast of the island continent that they wanted to arrive at. With the coast now visible through her forward canopy, Racetrack turned her speeding craft some to adjust her flight path and put them in a more northward heading to pass around that side of the land mass blocking their way. They were staying over the water instead of overflying any land mass in the area. This was harder, skill wise, because of the number of small boats that were in this area. They could not overfly them, but very few seemed to have powerful enough radar systems.

They left behind nothing more than a sonic boom as they passed a city called Darwin forty-eight kilometers off the right side of the craft. By the time the town was well behind the speeding craft it was having to jog north and south at odd intervals. Soon they were headed almost directly south around the sharp point on the east side of the continent. With this major course change, Racetrack had to adjust her speed downwards to below eight hundred kilometers per hour to stop even the sonic boom they were making when they passed the town of Brisbane.

Racetrack dropped her craft lower to the water, then still lower, and as the sun rose behind her craft, she crossed a beach at about six meters off the ground and going maybe sixteen kilometers per hour. Soon she had landed her craft in a thick bunch of trees not far behind where the tree line rose above the sand. The cleared landing area was an opening just big enough for the stubby wings of her craft to not touch the trees on either side.

When the craft had stopped moving Racetrack let out a loud sigh, which she did not even notice escaping her lips, although the rest of the passengers did both hear and notice the sound. She almost threw the helmet off of her head after she hit the last button to shut down her ride. She needed to feel cool air on her sweat soaked head and neck. Instead she just ran her hand across the visor and hoped it would hold her until she could take the frakking thing off of her head. The ride down had been almost as bad as she thought it was going to be.

The rest of the passengers had not said a word throughout the entire flight after the mission was cleared to leave the shadow of the moon. The silence had not been absolutely necessary, but it was deemed helpful for the rest of the Raptor's crew. It had been an exhilarating ride, just like each one of the passengers had been told to expect when they agreed to this mission. All would have agreed that the warning had not been oversold. Racetrack turned in her seat to look at her cargo with a huge grin on her face. "Okay folks, we are down and safe. I'm not picking up any movement larger than a medium sized daggit in the local area out to five clicks."

With a lot more energy than she felt, and she could feel the energy leaving her body every second she sat there, she loudly pitched the next part she wanted to say. She had spent not a few minutes practicing it in a mirror before anyone came aboard the craft. She had seen too many Earth made movies for her own good. "All ashore who're going ashore!"

Her statement had come out in the mix of Colonial and English that had been coming into being among the fleet over the last three years. It did get the response she had planned for from the Admiral. An open handed smack on the top of her pilot's helmet. Bill had also been watching the entertainment shows coming from this planet.

Skulls was the first person out the small craft. He had his weapon drawn just in case they were not as alone as they thought they were. He walked around the craft with a scanner in his off hand and his weapon tightly held in his right hand. He even had his finger on the trigger just in case things got hot a little on the quick side. They were on an alien planet with a few billion tool users that had access to a few tens of thousands nuclear weapons, after all. The scanner had been drawn from the Earthers' limited supply of high tech devices to make sure it was safe for this mission to go to the next phase. Normally, it was just considered the back up for the larger systems the Raptor carried. It was along on this mission because it was known to work as advertised on Earth. When Skulls was satisfied that they were both alone and safe, he waved to the open hatch.

Now that it was cleared for a second time, only then did Bill Adama exit the craft to touch the soil of the planet called Earth. Skulls quickly put away the scanner and pulled out a device that had never been made on a planet called Earth. He made a few adjustments and the small camera took some images of the event taking place before it. Skulls did the same as each person exited the modified Raptor and took their first steps on a new planet. This was going to be proof of the event to take back to the fleet. One never knows, the images might end up in the history texts, right along with the person who had taken the photos in the first place.

This time the craft was going to be left empty of any personnel or guards, at least for now. Bill did not want to divide up his personnel just yet. It was almost three quarters of a kilometer's walk from the open area to the cream colored sand beach. After the craft's hatch was locked and the alarms set, the six people walked to the nearby off white sand beach. When they got there, after the short walk, they just watched as the waves washed up on the beach in tune to the steady beat of the ocean. Between the sound of the waves and the sea breeze blowing through their hair, they were hypnotized like a group of deer in an oncoming car's head lamps.

It was Laura who broke the almost trance like state the group of visitors from another planet had fallen into at the sight and sound of what was going on around them. It was a picture prefect day, something they had only seen in recorded images for the better part of the last decade. If only they had been on one of the twelve words that had made up their original home."Okay, now this is nice, but what do we need to get done to set up the meeting? I want to enjoy as much of this as I can?"

Laura was looking into the blue water and fighting the powerful urge to run into those softly crashing waves, clothes and all. She had seen the local weather report and knew the water was going to be nice and warm. But seeing this view covering over a hundred and eighty degrees of her field of view put that information in a totally different perspective. With the trance broken by Laura's words, Bill took control of the situation to get everyone's heads back into the game. They had a lot of work to do, and it would not be good if someone stumbled onto them before they had had some key tasks done. It would be very hard to explain a Raptor just sitting in the tree line still hot from its travels.

"Right. Racetrack, Amazon go change into civvies and unpack the mountain bikes. You two have the address for the bank?" Bill did not even have to look at them to know they were nodding their heads that they had the information. He could just feel it.

"Good. Then take your packages and cash them in. Then go to the hotel and have them send something to pick us up. We will be putting the camouflage nets up while you're gone. Oh, and enjoying the view."

Bill turned from the painfully blue water that was having such a strong effect on him. He had not seen anything like it in a long time. Not since before he had shipped out to put the old Battlestar in her final resting spot all those years ago. In a voice that was just loud enough, Bill gave his commands. "Let's get this done. We can relax later, after our task is complete." This was a promise that Bill was making to himself as well as to the rest of the group.

The small group of off-planet travelers turned away from the water and returned to the small grounded space craft. Two lightweight handmade mountain bikes were unpacked from the cargo area of the craft and put together in no time. They could have brought a pair of electric powered ones to help with the transportation. What stopped them from doing so was the fear of what would happen if they were to lose one. It might cause a blowback in the timeline, or to their cover. So it was the old handmade pedal powered bikes that were packed up for use on this mission.

It was only sixteen kilometers to the nearest town from the landing site with the right kind of bank. One of the reasons that Racetrack made the final cut was that aside from her flying skill, she had also been spending hours each day, for months, on one of the devices. She had been riding them around and in the main and secondary corridors of the Battlestar even before anyone thought they might be needed on this mission. She just happened to like the fast little demons. She was even learning how to do some tricks without ending up with any blood on the deck plates. She had images of people doing different tricks, and she was trying them out. Not always with the best results.

Amazon was so strong that it did not matter how far she needed to ride. She knew that she could do the job, even if it was not the most effective way to go about the task. More importantly, Robin had the muscle to make it look like she did this kind of crap for fun. She also knew how to fight without weapons if push came to shove.

The four people that were left behind started pulling out the coverings that were then draped over the craft as camouflage. At first it was only two doing the work while the other four worked on putting the bikes together. As soon as the two bikes and their riders were cutting through the underbrush and out of sight, it was all hands on deck to get the concealing and covering nets set up properly. After only an hour of hot and sweaty work, anyone could be six meters away from the landing spot and not know the space craft was not just another bunch of trees and bushes. Any closer and it might not be the case. The greens, browns, and tans were just slightly off tone from the local vegetation, but to see something like that that one had to be looking from something that was off from the get go.

Skulls would be camping in or very near the Raptor for the rest of the mission. He was very much okay with this, and it had even been his idea in the first place. He had brought along fishing poles and some other gear, so he could feed his fishing addiction that he had sorely missed. He did not even mind that he would miss staying in a real hotel for the first time. He was looking forward to seeing what these waters held, and how they might taste when cooked over an open fire. When asked about the idea of staying in a hotel, he had just given Racetrack an odd look.

"Why spend time in a room with walls, when you can see a blue sky, and feel real wind on your face," was his only reply. Both had thought that the other one was crazy. Nothing more was asked when she passed along his desire to do guard duty, fish, and camp out in the tree line for the rest of the ground mission's duration.

Bill and Laura got to spend another hour on the beach with their toes in the wet sand and wave tossed ocean before a bright blue and very large Land Rover Discovery could be seen coming down the beach towards them at a steady running pace. It was the first sign of habitation that the now smaller group had seen since landing.

* * *

The hotel was a very high end resort and Kathy had easily hacked the system to reserve the needed rooms for the group's short stay. She offered to make a fake payment for those rooms early in the planning phase but that offended both Bill and Laura's sense of right and wrong. They were going to use the rooms, and they would pay the resort for the usage of those rooms. After all, it was not like they were short on items with a measure of monetary value. Space was full of rocks that had nice veins of things that a person could use to pay for things.

So the plan was made. Racetrack and Amazon would take twenty ounces of gold to a local bank and convert the metal into local paper money. The bank branch manager had been emailed beforehand, and had cleared up any issues with the transaction already. So when the two women had arrived at the bank with the small but heavy box it was a simple matter of some quick tests to make sure the ounce each round unmarked disks were of the advertised weight and purity.

The pair had only to ask to see one person by name, and they did not even have to show any ID at the bank. The longest part of the wait was sitting in the main lobby waiting to see the first gatekeeper to the right level of management. Kathy had found out that almost every bank or major branch office would not turn down what they can prove to be physical bullions of a handful of precious metals. That is, as long as it was of the right mass and purity.

Now, with cash in hand, or in their case a leather bag that was anything but leather, the two women then pedaled to the high-end hotel to check in at the front desk. They were halfway there when they stopped to find out what a taxi was. After that, the trip to the hotel was a lot quicker. When they checked in, the desk clerk had not been very friendly to the two women. Amazon had had to use her massive size to get a higher level manager to help them out. It was done by the very simple method of picking him up from across the desk by his shirt collar. All with one hand, and a very odd smile on her face.

The first line manager also had a problem with 'prepaid in cash, at check in' despite it having been agreed to by their home office a few thousand miles away. Margaret simply said that they also would need to put something in the hotel's main safe after they paid for the rooms. This one little request was all that it took to change the whole dynamic in the hotel lobby. The resort staff became very helpful all of a sudden.

Once the room was paid for and the remaining cash was in the safe, they were presented the keys to the room. They split up then, Racetrack to join the transport on its way to pick up their bosses, Amazon to scope out the rest of the huge oceanside villa for potential security issues. It was as much a new experience for the Colonial as it was for the woman from Rifts ruined Arkansas. The villa would have been listed as impressive even by the jet set, well heeled groups on this planet. The two women had tried not to stare too hard at the extravagant things around them.

The resort only asked one question after the money issue was handled and that was the reason for the pick up on the beach. The cover story was that it was where they asked their ship to drop them off at in the first place. The locals just filled in yacht for the word ship in their minds, and nothing was done to correct them. All the desk clerk needed were coordinates to put into the GPS to get the driver to the right location.

It was a very relaxing time for them all. The language difference between the two groups was covered by Amazon, her accent was just listed as American. Margaret's was listed as Russian, maybe. All of this information was added to the files kept to help make upper class customers happy. The information for the pickup was taken down and plugged into a hand held device, and soon one of the hotel's luxury off road vehicles was dispatched to the grid coordinates. It did not take long to both get to and pick up the three additional people on the beach. The short ride back to the hotel was even faster. Bill, Margaret, Laura, and the security escort that she was required by law to have, all were dropped off at the right villa. Well, for a given idea of small. The group stayed in the seaside villa eating room service and enjoying the view from the sea side patio for the rest of the day.

When the morning for the meeting with the lawyer came, the same Land Rover along with a second one, it was even the same color, carried the two rich VIP's and their entourage to the right section of beach. The plan was for the drivers and transportation to return one hour after local sunset. They would pick up the group then or they would come when called by the group for an earlier pick up. This service was nothing new for the resort. It was not common, but it still was not unheard of either. After all, rich people sometimes were not the sanest people to be around for any length of time.

When the pair of vehicles arrived at the location they had been directed to, the hatch backs were opened and very quickly a table, a tall white topped tent with two walls and six beach chairs along with food and drinks were laid out. All for what the hotel normally chalked up to a wealthy couple and their security team spending some alone time on a pretty white sand beach their country was well known for. The resort really did not much care why they needed extras of anything. They were getting a hell of a payday from this small but odd group of visitors. The resort knew that if they wanted more of these types of paydays they would set out seaside picnics every day and not ask one question, in public at least.

Bill and Laura quietly watched as the two SUVs retreated back the way they had come a half an hour earlier. Laura turned to Bill and stepped a little closer, and slid her arm around him. "I almost don't care if that lawyer does not show up."

She threw her arms up and back and in a brittle voice. "I could get used to this, you know Bill." She never had been in anything like this. Her paycheck never would have let her afford this kind of a vacation and make the house rent for the rest of the year.

Bill reached up and out of his very comfortable beach chair for a bottle of some kind of cold drink and took a sip. "Laura, from your lips to the gods' ears, and may they bless off on it. I wonder if any lowly admiral in the fleet could have a working vacation like this."

Bill got his head back into the game and gave a few directions so that the stage would be better set for the next phase. While they were hiding a few of the chairs, Skulls used this time to check in with the Admiral. It was only a few minutes after the SUV had driven out of sight of the group. With his report done, and the stage set for the next phase, the small group could again take some time to enjoy themselves. After some fresh and very tasty food and cold drinks.

Amazon, Racetrack, and Skulls retreated back to the Raptor. They had an important part to play in the upcoming drama. Two of them were to be seen, but not seen too much, as was expected of any good security personnel. They also were going to be carrying the heavy artillery that had been packed in with their kit for this mission in case things went south with the two leaders exposed on the open beach. Racetrack was going to be the heaviest guns if things really went south. She was to take off and recover the Admiral and President at any and all costs.

Bill had checked his watch for about the tenth time as his people relaxed close to their stage positions. When he looked up again, that was when a white SUV, kind of like the ones that had carried them here, made its appearance slowly coming around a bend further up on the north end of the beach. If it was the lawyer, then he was a whole three minutes early. If it was not him, then they might be in trouble after all. Bill looked to Laura and then back to her security escort Zack. He gave the man a nod, and then made eye contact with Laura.

"He's a little early. This could be good or bad." Laura met his eyes and only gave a slight movement of her head.

"Stay sharp, people. We might be being watched already. You all know what our ground combat crews can do. So assume they are almost as good."

Bill pitched his voice to carry over to the tree line that was concealing Skulls and Amazon. Two of the most muscular people on duty within the whole fleet under his command. Bill did not make even the slightest turn of his head as he spoke to the group at large. He did not want anyone to know about those two just yet.

* * *

James was sitting in the front passenger seat of the SUV as it slowly drove down the white sand beach. They were moving at an average cruising speed that was both safe for the terrain and safe on their backs. He could have been sitting in one of the more comfortable overstuffed back seats, but he preferred a better view of where they were going. It was a trade off, but one he was okay making. As soon as the firm rented SUV made a turn in a bend of the white sand beach, he could see a two walled beach tent that must be the meeting point. The driver had the coordinates, and this seemed to be close to the specified location.

His driver and security escort looked down at the hard mounted GPS and checked the hand written numbers he had been given. They were almost a perfect match, or as close as you could get and still be comfortable in the shade of the nearby tree line. The driver and security man pulled the Sphinx SDP Compact Alpha out of the seat mounted holster near his seat belt attachment. He did not take his eyes off of the beach and his hands seemed to be working from muscle memory.

After re-checking the weapon to make sure it was ready in case of need, he put it back in place, barely letting his eyes leave the direction of the most likely threat. This was his back up weapon, and this was the safest time to check it. Even though he could see now that it did not seem to be a hoax of some kind so far, he still thought that it was not sufficient proof that this was not going to be a kidnapping. It was only that people were going to be around, and strange people could still be a threat.

Now the driver risked more of a head turn to look at his charge. "Well Sir, those're the grid coordinates they gave us. Looks like three people, and all three are in beach clothes. Keep an eye on the one not seated, if you would. I will bet at least that one's packing a weapon, he has all the telltales of a professional bodyguard. I will keep an eye on them, but I think there might be someone in the woods also."

The driver had been in the Special Forces before getting a bit too close to an exploding mine for his good health one too many times. The law firm had an opening that needed a special set of skills at the time. So after getting a heads up on this man's soon to be nonexistent military duties, the head of the firm's security division had done a job interview with him three weeks before he was to start using up his final vacation or leave days.

The pair had gotten along, and the younger man had been to the right schools. Both the hard knock and technical varieties. He had started working two months after the last vacation day he had saved up from his stay in the military. His take home pay was only about ten percent higher than what he used to make after adding in all the tax free benefits, but they gave him a car, bought him a weapon, and let him shoot it as often and as long as he wanted. There were some things better than green backs in their wallet to certain people. He had worked with most of the normally at risk senior partners. This was not his first time on a task with this younger man. He never used the word mission, that word had special meaning to him. So far, he had not decided if he liked this guy or not. Right now, he was just rated as a pain, but not up to the level of jerk.

The security professional on the wheel was an American and it grated on James' nerves every time he spoke a word aloud. For the life of him, James could not understand why local women seemed so enamored with his accent or whenever he did something James thought was dumb. Oftentimes, the American would go out of his way and hold open the door for them. This was not the first time for him to draw this man as a driver, but it was only the third time that he had been alone or was the protectee. James was thinking that the driver now seemed a bit more on edge than normal.

When the SUV came to a stop, James gave the driver a slight nod to indicate he had heard the other man. Then he reached between his legs for his brief case. He quickly, but still gracefully, exited the high riding transport. The scene laid out for him was picture perfect for an upper class meeting with people with more money than the sense God gave a goose.

One part of James' mind made an announcement that if they had any sense at all, then they also might be the most dangerous people he had done business with to date for his firm. Now he was having second thoughts about not bringing in a senior partner for this meeting. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind just as he took the first step towards the seated couple underneath the four posted umbrella like tent. By then of course, it was too late to change anything. He was either in the game or out of the game, and only time would tell which side of the coin he was on.

James walked up to the power couple that was still seated with his back straight and his head held high in the bright morning sun. He stopped four paces from the cover provided by the small tent. All the while, he was trying not to think about what the sand was doing to his thousand dollar handmade leather shoes.

"Okay, you wanted a private meeting. Here I am." He brought his briefcase in front of him and held it with both hands and waited. He also did a slight rocking motion that he did not realize he was doing. It just happened to put the metal case in a location to protect his genitals. The ball was now in their court.

Bill and Laura both spoke and understood what was called pure English, but with a somewhat heavy or odd accent still. Laura was going to be the face of the operation, with Bill there in case she needed to have visible male support of some kind. It had already been brought up that some of the nation-states on this planet were more male dominated than others. So, it was the President of the Colonies that spoke next. Keeping Bill as her back up was just short of needing a weapon. Laura had had to deal with more than one male jerk in her lifetime. By now she had a pretty good way of cutting them off at the knees, if she needed to.

Laura, with a smile and pointed to an empty chair. "Thank you for coming out to meet us. We both know that it's a little unorthodox. Why don't you have a seat out of the sun? Then we can see if your firm is what we are looking for…or not."

James took the offered seat and in one practiced move brought his briefcase to rest on an open spot at the corner of the beach table. He was looking around the group and trying to pigeonhole everyone that he could see. He had been in some strange meetings, and he had heard of a lot more of them after taking a job with this firm. So, the location did not throw him that much. After all there was little difference between a beach and a mega yacht in his mind.

 _Yep one in light clothing and staying on his feet._ Definitely the close in security, just like his driver had suggested. Now that he was closer, even James could tell he just had the look of a man who had had to do hard things in his life. When James looked at the power couple in front of him. He could see two more people just past the woodline kitted out in combat gear of some sort. Now James had that very alone feeling, as if he was feeding Great Whites without a shark cage between him and the hunting and killing machines.

James took a quiet breath, and went into Full Pro mode. This was why he was paid the big bucks. "Thank you. Now I hope you read the firm's policies? This is billable time and expenses, so no matter what comes of his meeting, a bill will be generated, and sent to you via email. And payment will be expected in full."

James was feeling split on this. One part of his mind wanted to get back in the SUV and leave right now. The other part wanted to know what was going on. It was the latter part that was currently winning over the urge to run.

Laura had her politician smile on again. This guy had no idea how outgunned he was. She decided that now was a good time to give a little hint about how outgunned he was. "Mr. Garden, we read it. Even before we sent you the request for this little meeting with the first email. We did take the time to compare your files with what we were told to expect. Unsurprisingly, they matched down to the line item."

Laura's eye was locked on the local lawyer. She was starting to wonder if she should try to shear this sheep or not. She was starting to lean towards not liking this man. The more she looked at him, the more she thought that he reminded her of Baltar's lawyer, Romo Lampkin. That was not a good thing to happen in anyone's book. At least this early in the game. She had to fight to keep her face from show the thoughts that just shot through her brain. It was not easy for her to do.

James was taking mental notes as she talked. _So, they're Greek? They sound Greek, but not somehow at the same time. Maybe they went to an American finishing school, instead of a British one that was normal for that part of the world. It makes sense that they are keeping on the quiet side, with what's going on in their homeland and the collapse of the Greek government, again. If they pulled out all of their money, some of their fellow countrymen might not like it and do something dumb or very public, or both._

James put on his own smile to match the one on the woman sitting across from him. _Well, now that that's out of the way. It's all on them if this will turn out to be a waste of time,_ thought the lawyer.

"Good." He said as he reached over, opened his case, and pulled out a legal length pad of yellow colored paper. "So, what is this project you want to do? How can my firm help you to complete your objective?" The words flowed out like honey from his mouth.

Some people would have pulled out a laptop computer to start taking notes but not his firm. Anything that was put in a computer was subject to having someone else find out about it in the near future. It was his firm's policy that any and all meetings held outside of the main offices were to be documented on paper only. Only later would they be put into a computer, one that was safely behind the firewalls that his company knew were safe.

Laura smiled and pulled out two files from the pockets on one side of her beach chair. She was fighting hard not to smile as she planned out her words. "We want to buy a pair of islands." She slid one of the file folders over, but did not remove her hand from the top of it. She shot him a level look over the rim of her glasses. This stopped James' hand from moving from his side of the table like he had seen a snake.

"But first, you need to read our contract. You will need to sign it before we go any further." She slid a second folder over the first off white folder. It had a pen and flags to mark where she meant to focus his attention or for him to sign that he understood the document.

This sudden change of pace intrigued the lawyer. These people were doing all the right moves and saying all the right things to show that they were pros at this game. Now, a lot more slowly than was normal for him, James reached over and took the top folder. With a quick flip of his wrist it was turned and opened. He started reading the now exposed thin white pages. The game was starting out to be played by his rules. Or more to the point, they were playing by rules that he knew very well. The only difference was the view provided by the meeting. This one was a lot nicer than the ones in the briefing rooms back at his office.

He did not notice that his change of body language was picked up by both the Colonials and his driver. His driver and bodyguard had stayed by the SUV keeping the engine of the all wheel drive transport between him and the threat that might come from the standing guard under the tent. He was counting on very few people knowing that this SUV was armored and not your average grocery getter or kid transport. He thought that it would be a given that he had some kind of firearm on him. Again, most would think it was a Glock or something along those lines.

What he did not know was that even with the very well concealed armor plate on the very expensive SUV, it would not be enough. The handheld weapons on this beach today would have turned a Main Battle Tank into so much confetti flying through the air with only few hits, much less the lightweight SUV he was using as cover. Well ignorance is bliss, as they say. That is along as it does not get you a terminal case of the deads. In that way, ignorance sucked.

James was reading the multiple page document. It was very explicit about many things and he understood most of them though he was having a hard time grasping the idea of actively countering any cyber-attacks as they seemed to want. He did find that extreme focus on security odd. Only one of quite a few odd things, in fact. The last odd issue had him mentally scratching his head. It was that they wanted to not just be legal, they wanted this mission to be moral as well.

He was impressed with the few documents he had read so far. It was written plainly, with very few loopholes that would stand out. Those loopholes that did stand out, he could not find, even after his second reading. It was not until his third reading of the document that he made his decision and started marking and signing the pages to signify his agreement. He flipped through the pages one last time to double check that it was now complete, then he passed the pages back to the power couple and waited for what was going to happen next.

Bill Adama saw the sharply dressed man finishing his part of the document, so when he placed it back on the table, Bill quickly reached over and took the paper and folder. He put the document in a side pocket of his chair, not Laura's. She would be able to reach it without having to stretch but a few inches. This let Laura start the next part of this little dance right on cue. Bill had to keep his hands and arms on the chair's arms and not on the tabletop.

James noticed that it was the quiet male who took the signed documents and folder off the tabletop. What he did not notice was that one of the figures in the woodline disappeared totally from sight without so much as shifting a stick in the process. The shadow went to retrieve a package that the Admiral had just given the signal to go get by taking the folder and not Laura.

Laura passed the other folder the rest of the way to the lawyer, the one with the particulars of the plan that was going to literally change this world. It was only a rough outline, but it got the idea about what they wanted done across. Bill and Kelly both came from the school of letting the subordinates work the plans they were given. It allowed them to support the larger mission with very little details being needed to be given.

James saw the first page. It was what looked like a medium resolution overhead image of a close pair of islands surrounded by a reef to him. When he flipped the page with the image on it over to the back, the names and grid locations were handwritten there. He did not take the time to read all ten pages but he did read enough to get the gist of the task being requested of him and, through him, his law firm.

James stopped reading and looked back at the two seated across from him. He did not say anything for a few long seconds, but that did not seem to unnerve the power couple. When he was sure that someone was not going to jump out of the woods and let him know this was some kind of joke, he decided to go with it. After all, he was normally billing almost two grand an hour for his time.

James did not put down the pages. He was still holding them up in his hands, blocking the lower part of his face. It was acting as a shield to hide his expression. "Okay. Now why do you want to buy these two islands?"

This was not an unexpected question to be asked and Laura was ready for it. "We want to set up... a kind of refuge. We have been looking for a long time now for an area that was right for what we need. This place fits with what we need and want." She held up a long, thin, and bony finger. Every word that she had just said was the perfect truth.

She kept talking and holding the finger in the air. "We think that everyone should get one million US dollars. And they should get it no matter when they sell their property to us. If there are any public relations blowback, or funny business, there will be issues, and we will not stand by and let it happen. Are we frakking clear?"

The tone she used was sharp, and it was a tone that was liquid nitrogen cold. It was like they held the power of life and death in her very words and she did not even realize that she had spoken the one Colonial word in English. She was so focused on making sure this young daggit know that she was not someone to be taken lightly.

James' head snapped up and made eye contact with the woman across the small table from him. A slight turn of his head let him know he was receiving a similar look from the craggy faced man. When he looked back at the woman, he noticed that her eyes were very cold. James felt ice going down his spine like a fast moving glacier. The way she said 'issues' felt like she should have said 'shootings.' This threw James off his game for a handful of seconds. He could think of only a handful of times something like this had happened to him in the last decade. That was a very long time for him, so he tried to cover his apprehension with a question.

"One million US dollars per person. You're looking at around close to twenty billion dollars, US. Not counting the fees and expenses my firm will have to cover and charge you for covering. Who are your backers on a project like this?"

James was running through a mental list of the current 'in' and extremely overpaid entertainers. More than a few were known to have too much money and free time on their hands for their own good. There was a well-known list of those types that might support a project like this, and on this scale. For the life of him though, James could not remember any one of the likely candidates having made a statement about wanting to set up a refuge of any kind.

Bill raised his left hand, and waved it in the air near his ear. It was right then that James' eyes were drawn to the movement of a person coming out of the woodline. His heart stopped beating for a few seconds as a massive bald man dressed all in black and dark greens came out of the wood line. He moved with a leopard like grace, the kind of grace only a predator or someone trained to be one could pull off.

 _Yep, ex-military,_ thought James. He could not place the uniform type as the large bald man carrying a medium sized metal case walked with a fast and steady pace towards the seated group. One part of James' mind told him, big man, very fit, could probably take out a tank barehanded. Looked a lot like his driver, in fact.

Laura had that smile on her face that she gave people. It was the one she used when she was about to drop a bomb on them. James did not know the look but the rest of them knew it well. And they waited for it to fall on the unsuspecting puppy.

"We will be paying for it. We don't need additional local support from anyone." Again, she had not said one word that was not one hundred percent true. That is, if you looked at it from a certain point of view.

Skulls put the hard carry case on the tabletop and stepped back away only a single step, staying in the shade of the large umbrella like covering. It looked like he was holding up one side of the tent with his massive body. Laura opened the case, but James could not see into it from his where he was currently seated. Laura was in showmanship mode, and pulled out two small boxes that anyone who had gotten engaged in the last hundred years would have recognized instantly.

She opened the first flip top felt covered box, and turned it to the lawyer so that he could see what the small box held. She next pulled a second box out, and did the same thing. The last box to come out of the magic metal case was a small polished steel box. That one she did not open, and placed next to the two gemstones on display on the tabletop.

Laura then closed the metal case, but did not move it off the tabletop. After she closed the case and placed it just the way that she wanted on the tabletop, she tilted her head to one side and looked at the man born on this planet. He was looking at the stones, but the look was not one that she had expected to see. It looked confused more than any other thing to her very well trained and experienced eyes.

The lawyer did not say anything for about twenty seconds, so Laura first pointed to the four carat radiant cut stone that had a deep purple color. "This is a Taaffeite stone. They sell for about twenty-four hundred US Dollars a carat, uncut. And as you can see it is already nicely cut and ready to be put in an appropriate setting."

Her long finger then moved to the red-orange colored stone, about the same size and same cut as the first gem she had pointed to. As she made the movements she did not let her eyes leave the lawyer's.

"This is a Painite gem, and they sell for about sixty thousand USD a carat. Again in the uncut format, which we have already paid to have nicely remedied so as to show off the stone."

Laura's smile went a little on the sly side as she pointed to the metal container next to the Aphrodite's tears. "And in this little box is something different from jewelry. It is a single gram of ninety percent pure Californium 252, and ten percent gold. But you're going to have to have your people test it first to prove that it is what we say it is." She stopped talking to let sink in what she had just offered as payment to get this game moving in the right directions.

Before today James had never heard of any of the names she had rattled off like he should know what she was talking about. So after the first stone was explained, he pulled out his six inch long personnel electric device, and started searching for what she was describing. It did not take long to figure out what she was talking about, even if he could not spell them exactly right. She did have an accent he was not used to, after all.

He was impressed, but thought he was able to hide it very well, after he got to the second item she had put on display. She had put over one million US Dollars in stones on the table without showing much hesitation and explained what she had done. The last item was harder for him to find any information on. What he had found at the top of his search list made no sense to him even after the third try, so he had to ask. He decided to act a little bored with the whole transaction. He wanted her to know that this was not out of the ordinary for him to deal with.

"Did you say Californium 252?"

The tone was different than he had used before, and Laura started getting her defenses up in place. It took a few seconds for Laura to get her mental feet under her and not bite his head off. She was not used to someone using that tone.

"Yes, I did. Are you having problems referencing it on your little phone?" It was a sweet smile, and tone, but it was also deadly. It had not taken her this long to find the information he had to have been looking for in the hotel room last night as they double-checked their briefing notes. She wanted to head any games off at the pass.

James looked up and gave a slight nod to accept the rebuke and then went back to his device. Within a few more seconds of button pushing, he jumped out of his seat when he finally opened the top return on his smart phone's search.

"That stuff's radioactive! It's dangerous! Are you out of your mind? What are you doing with stuff like that?" He was wide eyed, panting, and his heart was about to pop out of his designer shirt from the shock he had just been given.

James, like most people, automatically think that when they see a certain few words, someone is going to make a bomb out of it. They do not realize that they were around things that are slightly radioactive every day. It is in most doctor's offices, and is also used in the testing of high end components of very expensive devices. Along with some of those devices whose only purpose is to make the owners a lot of money. Those test device are also very hard to find and cost a lot when they are put up for sale. The bottleneck for most high end test equipment is not making the devices. It is finding the key components that are safe but have a bad reputation.

Skulls and Zack's right hands went to their holsters, and the Colonial made pistols in them, in a flash that the average person would have been hard pressed to follow. Neither man went as far as to actually pull the weapons out of the holsters, but they wanted to be ready if they had to. James did not notice that behind him, his own escort had pulled his own HK MP7SF from under his thin outer coat as soon as he saw him jump up and out of his seat. The bulk of the SUV kept the weapon from being seen, but the movement was noticed. Things could have gone downhill speed of light fast but fortunately Zack made a show of slowly moving his hand back to its normal ready position.

Laura saw the movements of both men, and she had been around military people long enough to work out what those movements most likely were. She knew that she had to act quickly and defuse the situation or this meeting was about to get ugly.

"Yes, and if you know that, then you also know that it's not used in weapons of any kind. Instead it's used by some very high end manufacturers around the world. These manufacturers are people who will pay about twenty-seven million US Dollars for a gram of it. We have almost half a kilo of it safely locked away. All four hundred and fifty grams are less than a year old, and are also ninety-five percent pure or better. I think that would cover most of the cost to support our mission, don't you? Moving that much of the item could take some time. That is why we are only giving you one gram today, so that you can sell it now, but the income will still be substantial."

James retook his seat and flushed a little in embarrassment at his outburst. A person at his level should have more control of himself. Now he had to both recover his train of thought and also make amends in some way. He knew that he had just insulted the people at this table, and something like that could easily sink this deal.

"Sorry about that. Let me check the rest of the information on this substance. If you please?" He was amazed at how normal his voice sounded after the shock he had just been given. He went right back to his device and read a lot more closely what was displayed on it.

What he was reading was encouraging, and what she said checked out in both in use and price for the Californium. One part of his mind wondered why he had never heard of something what was so valuable and useful before now. James would stop when he thought he had most of the key information. He then would write the cliff notes down on the legal pad.

Bill and Laura shared a smile, and a knowing look that was hidden behind drink glasses. All as the lawyer worked to catch up to them. The local's escort put his weapon away again. Skulls kept his hand close to the holster though, just in case, but it was in a more normal resting position and less threatening. He did take a few steps closer to the lawyer and his escort. Skulls wanted a clearer line of sight to the threat than where the Admiral had wanted him to stay after dropping off the case of goodies. He only had to make sure that he did not block Amazon's line of sight. Zack could not help but have a slight smile cross his face. Skulls was good, but he was still green in this kind of work.

James looked back up when he was ready to continue the meeting. He had also used the time to notify his first line bosses back in Sydney. He had to let them know that this was the real deal, and he told them as much else as he could in 144 characters or less. James had no idea that there was a Kathy sitting a few meters off of the surface of the moon reading his messages as fast as he typed it on his smartphone. She did not even have to wait for it to be sent, she had been able to put a key logger on his phone without anyone noticing. It had been there since the same day that the first emails had been sent to his computer.

Now that he was a little more focused and back on his game, he went back to work and made sure only a slight smile come to his face. Just like he was talking to a sitting judge. "I can see that you have done your homework. It's always nice to work with professionals. What is the timeline you're looking at to complete this project of yours?"

"We want this complete in thirty days after you agree to take on the job. We want everyone off the islands. With whatever personal items they want to take with them."

Laura knew that this was a bombshell she was dropping on the lawyer. Then again with a down payment of almost thirty million US Dollars, it should be expected that things would go quickly. Besides, Bill had told her that they needed to set a high goal. If they did not meet it, well that would help them later at the trading table with this law firm. Besides one never knows, they might be able to do it after all.

James was taken back. So much so that his back hit the back of his beach chair so hard the back legs dug an inch deeper into the sand. On a project this big, years was more the normal timeline to complete the agreed to tasks.

"What are you going to do with the people who don't want to move? No matter how good the offer is, some people will not want to change homes, or at least not on such short notice. People are funny that way." James was thinking about the court case in America not too long ago that had made it to the supreme court about a woman who did not want to leave her home.

James was also thinking back to the paper work that his firm had sent out. He and his firm would not be connected to some death squads or be connected to anything remotely connected to human ethnic cleansing.

Laura had a sly smile on her face again, and looked over her glasses at the lawyer. "If you check the last page in the file, please. We covered that little issue. All we ask is that anyone who remains must obey the rules listed there, and any majority voted on and passed rules or adjustments to that page. They will be allowed to cast a vote in those decisions. Then those will be the new laws of that land. But again, they will have an equal vote, just like all of our people will. We have a governing body set up that is democratic based, and that will be set up for the refuge to live under."

James went to the pages in question, and checked what was listed. The outlined rules seemed not to be too different from what was normal for most election based governments around the globe today. Now, he could not help but be impressed and he could feel his head nodding in agreement as he read each of the 'laws.'

"Okay. I see that. I think that is workable. Now, let's talk about my firm's compensation. We have a per hour charge, per person charge, and we normally take ten percent on the base transactions on any sales of property." It was time to get to the nuts and bolts of the plan. It did not matter if he liked or agreed with the suggested project or not. Not if the money was not right, for his firm.

Laura still had that same smile on her face. "I think that with a deal this size, one percent of the total end cost is still enough for your firm to be very happy with. We think that amount should good enough, as well as cover most of the expenses to be incurred by the firm in supporting our plan. After all, we are talking about only a month's work, and maybe a few hundreds of millions of dollars for your firm's bank accounts when it is all said and done. One percent of the estimated twenty billion dollars this is going to cost means two hundred million for your firm."

James had expected the hit back, and rolled with it. He had not run the numbers but he knew that it was going to be in the ten or eleven digits range. To have a number that large thrown on the table showed James that these people had an idea of the cost and were prepared to pay for it. A frown formed on James's face.

"Okay. This deal is above my pay grade to agree to right now. I'm going to have to kick this upstairs. How long do I have before you move on to another firm, which you must have on speed dial already? How will we be able to talk to you again? Are you going to be staying in the local area for the near future?"

James was fishing, but he needed to know some of these things. Just so that he could tell his bosses something. He thought that he might need a good bat if they started dragging their feet on this deal and let some other firm take what was looking like a career making opportunity for both him and them.

"You have thirty-six hours from now to let us know." Laura looked down at her watch. This was to let him know that she was serious about the clock starting now. It would not be thirty-seven hours before they called the next firm on the list. She did not stop talking while she was looking at her wrist watch hidden from view under the tabletop.

"Are we staying local? No, we will not be staying local after tonight. If you need to contact us, you can use the electronic address you already have in your computer's contact list back in your office." She gave the lawyer a knowing smile, and a slight eyebrow raise.

James stood from his beach chair a lot slower this time. "Well, I had better get on my way then. I hope that we can work together on this wonderful project you have brought to my attention."

James held out his hand to shake each one's hand. He started with Laura's then offered his right hand to Bill. While he was turned to face Bill, Laura picked up each of the three little boxes, waiting until both of his hands were free before passing them to him. Then with a kind of flourish, she pulled out one more off white sheet of paper.

Laura tapped the single sheet of paper on top of the boxes that had print on it in what looked to be two different languages. One was in English, but he had no idea what the second one was. "Before you go on your way, Sir. Please sign this receipt for those items." She had a different type of smile, one that was almost schoolmarmish in appearance.

James nodded his head in agreement. It made sense to have a paper trail for almost thirty million dollars' worth of small items. Items small enough that they could be lost very easily. "Yes of course."

James quickly read the English text, and signed his name on the dotted line at the bottom and passed the pen and paper back towards the woman. He noted that it listed the items and not the cost of each of the items that he was taking. It was almost like these were just stuff they had in a sock drawer or something along those lines.

James turned and walked back to the waiting SUV with the same measured steps that he had taken from it. This time, he did not care what the sand might be doing to his shoes. He could get a hundred different pairs of handmade shoes by the end of the month. He was just trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. The driver and armed escort waited for the lawyer to be seated in the 4x4 and the armored door closed before taking his place behind the wheel of the white transport. He had seen more than one person shot in the back after leaving a meeting.

As soon as the hybrid engine was running, the driver put the cooling to max before he even put the heavy beast back into driving gear. James was already head down in his electronic leash, so he did not even notice the sweat soaked shirt and jacket the other man was wearing. Being on a sun soaked beach with body armor and an overjacket was not done by someone who might come down with a heat stroke at the drop of a hat.

It was one of the reasons that he was fit for duty. He knew how to take care of himself. Plus, after finding out that they were going to be on a beach, he had drunk as much water as he dared after they had landed at the airport. It was a balancing act. Too much water and he would have to go to the bathroom. If he drank to little, the he had a good chance of passing out under the hot sun.

James' fingers were flying across the screen. He was hitting letters as fast as he could. He was a lot faster with it now that he did not feel the need to hide what he was doing. His bosses later would have great fun reminding him of some of his spelling choices. By the time the SUV had left the beach and re-entered the paved road, the firm's private jet was on its way to pick him up as fast as it could get cleared. An edited version of this fact was on one of the replies to his messages. He found out that he would not be using one of the two commercial tickets in his jacket pocket after all.

When the SUV hit the bump that separated the beach from the black topped road, it brought James back to the rest of the world and out of the smartphone interface. As he looked around at the changing scenery blurring outside of his window, he became very nervous about the value of what was in his pockets in very small but heavy boxes. Normal people should not be able to just hand off a few tens of millions of dollars of anything with only a single signature on a few sheets of paper. Not even people who used his firm on a regularly bases.

"Ohhh... You might want to keep your weapon handy."

James looked back over his left shoulder at the growing traffic behind them. This, more than anything else, let the driver know that his passenger was uncomfortable with what might have just been concluded on the beach. When he made eye contact with the lawyer, he could see something that he had not noticed before.

"Just in case, you know." James was patting one of his coat pockets without realizing what he was doing.

The driver looked into the review mirror and without a questioning word, he took the small, suppressed automatic weapon out of his underarm holster and laid it on his lap, muzzle pointed towards the door. Now he was even more aware of what was happening outside his SUV than he had been before. He had no idea what was going on. He had thought that he had seen a couple of large gem stones, but not even two large diamonds should have made this guy that nervous. He made a mental note to talk to his boss and make sure everything was on the right side of legal. He did not enjoy the thought of going to jail. He was too pretty for something like that.

James went back to punching keys on the device in his two hands. His thumbs should have been tied in knots as they flew very quickly over the small touch screen. He was updating his boss and getting a few odd replies. James did not know who they were coming from. Then with a shake of his head he just chalked it up to him being new to the office.

The next time that James would look up and around to the outside world was as the vehicle made its way to the main airport access road. James was now sweating even though the now cold air filled the passenger compartment of the SUV. After all, it was not every day that he would be carrying close to thirty million dollars' worth of property on his person. They could not even make movies about stuff like this and have people believe it.

 _That's it. I must be dreaming,_ thought James as the driver got closer to the drop off point. The more he thought about what he was carrying, the faster his heart beat in his chest.

* * *

When Skulls gave the thumbs up sign that said that they were again alone, the group relaxed some on the beautiful beach. Before James and his driver were back on the hard paved road sixteen kilometers away, the whole group of people who were not of this planet were back in vacation mode. Racetrack came jogging out of the treeline with a huge smile on her face. That was all the sign that the other five needed to see. She had been able to track the four wheeled transport until it made it to one of the main roads.

The spread supplied by the resort was augmented by a few fish that Skulls had caught overnight and had not eaten for himself. After showing off his prize, soon they were cooking on a wood fire near the wood line and the umbrella like covering. It was just what the doctor ordered for everyone in the group. The only thing missing was the glasses of Ambrosia to sip on while they ate and enjoyed their time on the beach.

That did not mean that they did not have anything with a little kick. They did have a selection of about fifty little bottles of stuff, with about twenty-five different names printed on them. For the rest of the day, they fished, swam, or just sat in the chairs that had been provided by the hotel. They were facing east, so the setting sun cast differing shades of light into the sky and water. But as the light got dimmer behind them and the shadows stretched longer, they each knew that it was almost time to start the act again. Skulls added more wood to the little cooking fire to add some more light, and a little something else to the beach fire. He had just finished his turn back on the Raptor, and Racetrack was going to be there for the last shift. Someone had to be manning the small craft's systems.

After James and his escort left, the Colonial group were totally alone on the open stretch of beach. It made them feel like they were the only people on the whole planet. When a little device in Skulls' jacket beeped, everyone went on alert, but it turned out to be only a set of lights coming down the beach towards them in the almost dark. It was their ride to the hotel for the night. Well, it was the ride for most to the people on the beach. When the first of the two Land Rovers' lights fell onto the camp, they could only see only five people near a little fire enjoying an early evening on the beach. It was just the scene they had expected to see. Racetrack and Skulls had traded locations once again.

The driver was surprised that everyone, including the couple that was supposed to be the rich ones or the people paying the bills pitched in. All helped take down the site and pick up any trash. In no time, everything was packed into the back of the large all wheel drive vehicles. It was a quick drive back to the resort. All but Amazon was sleeping when the Land Rover came to a stop in front of the villa they had rented for their use. Everyone was tired, so it was early to bed and early to rise the next day for the mixed group of Rifter Earthers and Colonials. They had all experienced a full day, even if it had been a little stressful at times. No one would ever be able to say that this had not been a working vacation for everyone who had made the trip. They had been able to do both very nicely.


	20. Chapter 20 Up for Sale

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 20 Up For Sale**

Earth, Feb 2018, Over 6 Years After the Fall of the Colonies

7 Years 11 Months AT, 39 months and 3 Weeks after Leaving the Nebula

James and his law firm did not shut down for anything, not with such an expensive worldwide support system in place to help out. When James pulled into the private entrance of the Brisbane Airport, he was not surprised to see the largest business jet the firm had access to sitting on the tarmac waiting for him. What was surprising to see was two of the senior partners waiting for him by the airstair as the SUV pulled up. James's escort had contacted the rental company after passing through the last layer of airport security. He had told them where the armored SUV was located, and that it would be digital code locked. It would be waiting for them to retrieve themselves.

The firm was going to have to pay a fee for not properly returning the high priced car but his bosses were not willing to wait for the driver to drop it off at the station, over three kilometers away. The original idea had been for the escort to just catch the later commercial flight after they had determined that this was a real meeting. That was until they saw the items of value sent with James on their cellphones. It was a snap decision. Maybe it was a good idea to keep an armed escort around until they were able to get all the way back to the main office where they would have a lot of more hardware around them and their cargo.

James briefed the two powerful people as the plane went back to its home station as fast as it could, just a hair below the speed of sound at cruising altitude. Even the ride to that cruising height was faster than normal. It had more in common with a fighter taking off from scramble alert than a high end passenger jet.

It was almost straight up noon when the little jet rolled to a stop at the next airport. Unlike a lot of larger jets, the people not at the controls of this jet were able to send information from their offices and receive other messages that were sometimes on the large side. Without any restrictions. So messages had been sent out to important, smart, and more to the point rich people with known amounts of very disposable income.

The two best jewelers in all of Australia had packed up all needed items and were at the firm's top floor offices, just as the wheels of the jet touched Mother Earth again. Also soon to be on the way to their offices was the head of the science department for the best school of higher education in all of Sydney. That last one had taken a personal phone call just to get him to stop dragging his feet and get moving. He had complained to the first three people that had contacted him that he was in the middle of something. Who or what that might have been did not matter. The last phone call had told him that if he wanted a specific grant renewed, then he would get his fat ass into his car and on the road. After that was clarified, it turned out that he was not doing anything that was that important after all.

Representatives for twenty other hoped for attendees had been contacted and told what was going to be coming up for sale on short notice and that they might be interested in stopping by to see it for themselves. They all were told that all of the testing would be open for watching and any reviewing by anyone attending. This exclusive list of people was also told to bring money, lots of money, if they were interested in one of the items.

If it was most any other law firm in the world doing this, the representatives would not have bothered to pick up the phone in the first place. Or they would pick up, use some colorful language in a few different tongues, and then hang up. Very few people on that contact list liked going to any meeting, much less one on short notice. Their representatives hated doing anything on short notice because it made their jobs harder.

This law firm did this type of thing a few times every year. They had been doing it for more decades than most of this current generation of agents could remember. If the invitation had not been so urgent, people from all over the world would have done their level best to make it there. If only to be seen by others in the same rarefied circles they moved in.

This firm was known for coming up with... let's just call them exceptional items. If you were looking for a high end old masterpiece, it would be guaranteed to be the real thing, and it would not leak out who now owned it or who was the new owner. If it was something last seen in a list of museums in war-torn countries, the persons offering the item for sale would be lucky to only find themselves thrown out on their ears.

There were a few very highly placed rumors that on one or two occasions the stolen properties' original owners had been called, and both the items and the suspects were turned over to their not so tender mercies in a third country. One very quiet rumor was that a few items had showed up to their former owners with a few blood stains on the insides of the shipping boxes. The firm had never asked for any sort of payment for returning these items. There was never even a hint given about how something happened. It was great and priceless advertisement for the firm.

In short, fences and other black market types were not only not welcome, their very lives could be at risk if their shadow even crossed the threshold of one of the firm's doorways. It was all about the ability to have a proper or desired reputation. Without the right one, well the money would dry up very quickly. There is no honor among thieves. If one was willing to work with them then what was to stop them from doing so again? At any time the suits in the firm might decide that it was more advantageous for them to break the law against a client.

While they worked on the guest list, there was still lot of work to be done, and everyone was pulling in overtime. The number of people working on this project grew as they were transferred over from one billed job or another that was completed. Only a few people in the whole firm knew who the seller might be. The rest of the office just knew that they had to jump because something came up or the other team had dropped the ball, and now they were pulling their chestnuts out of the fire for the good of the firm.

Lunch was brought in for everyone working on this one deal, and a cheap dinner brought up around 5 pm for the workers. It would end up feeding over three quarters of the entire firm's normal operating staff. Every man-hour was tracked and accounted for with extreme accuracy by the very attentive bookkeeping and billing staff. And the firm had not even officially accepted the deal yet. They would not accept the deal until the items were verified as being as advertised. It would not have been the first time that someone had wanted to sell something that turned out to be a fake of some kind without the owner knowing about it.

What was not cheap was that at 7 pm, or about the time that Bill Adama and his companions were being picked up at the beach, people were showing up at the law firm in suits and dresses so expensive that they would have taken every cent most people made in a year to pay for. That did not count the watches, cufflinks, and any other bits of adornment that the arriving guests might have on.

Given only three things were up for bidding, and the relatively short notice, the evening was not a full on gala event like the others previously connected to the firm. The longest span of time for the night was taken up by running the tests on the items. And in many cases, the retests and re-retests of the items. All of the tests had to be done before bidding could take place on the items for sale tonight. It turned into a lively evening anyway, even without any extra entertainment scheduled. Even though only three people left with the items, everyone had a good time.

It had been repeatedly stated, at least a hundred times, that these were only samples. That in the near future, there will be more of these items for sale from the same consigner. But that was only after the bids were finished tonight. They did not want to drive down the prices, but they also did not want to undersell something either. It was a fine line, because very rich people often paid only for items that had very limited accessibility or were unique. If more items were coming on the market some of the people would not bid on the items.

It was almost midnight, but everyone had finally left the firm's lower offices. That is, except for a key group of the partners and some new additions. They all were sitting in their favorite chairs around the room. This time their group had a new member, and he was the youngest person in the room. He was the point of contact for this almost too good to be true contract that the firm looked to be taking. The senior partners were relaxed, James was not. He had dreamed about this day for years before he had been hired by them. Now that he was here, it did not feel right to him. Everything had happened too fast.

The dark wood paneling covered every bit of wall space, at least, all of it that was not covered by huge windows. There were also bookshelves filled with expensive leatherbound books going all the way to a ceiling that was on a different floor than the one the chairs were sitting on. The air in the huge top floor room was filled with smoke that was rich smelling. It was coming from cigars and pipes from almost everyone in the room. It did no matter if they peed standing up, or sitting down. It was against the law, but the people in this room did not care. They also did not care that it was supposed to be unhealthy for them to be smoking in the first place.

It would have been the perfect setting for a Bond villain to hold court, or for a star chamber of some kind to be run out of. To the people sitting in the room tonight, it was just a common meeting room. It just happened that they liked to use this one more than any other in the building. In fact no one in the room had been consulted in its design. It just kind of happened, and once it was noticed, no one had stepped in to change the plans that had slipped through the cracks.

Not only was smoking in a building against national law, it was also against a host of fire regulations. It did not matter to this group. They owned the whole building and paid the property taxes. Besides, no one was crass enough to have out something as cheap and mundane as a cigarette in this room, much less light one up. They all were enjoying sipping at their favorite drink, and not one of them cost less than a hundred dollars an ounce whether it was clear or colored in the lead crystal holders. Most of the people in this room had at least three ounces in the glass at all times.

One of the partners, who had been with the firm for almost twenty years, took a long pull of his dark leafed wrapped cigar and let the thick blue smoke leak through his half open lips like little ethereal ghosts. He was the only one in the room who had not been in a good mood the whole time during the sale tonight. He also had a known habit of not liking anyone under the age of fifty. And he did not like anyone under that age who was working for what he was fond of calling 'His Firm'.

When the rising blue smoke slowed, he decided to fire one off into the room. It was more to put the young turk in his place than to achieve any real or defined end state. He felt that it was his job to show the rest of the senior partners in this room that the children should leave the room now.

"I still think he should have pushed for the ten percent, and you all know that's the normal rate for a first time client." He was not going to dignify the young upstart's by using his given name. Not in a public setting and definitely not with this group of real players in the firm. Everyone else, they were just cogs of his firm in his opinion.

An older woman, in her late fifties but thanks to lots of doctors and money looking only around forty, sat her cut crystal martini glass down after taking another sip of the drink. She looked across the room and locked on to her target with a pair of weapon like eyes. She knew about the blinders and issues that this person had with younger people.

"Really, Augustus? We walked into maybe more money in a month than you have brought into the firm in the last dozen years. We all agreed to the terms. If you had a problem, then why did you vote to accept this, dear?" She had just thrown a gauntlet onto the table. Normally she would not have done something like this in front of a junior partner or anyone outside the firm.

That last bit of information had been a surprise to James. He had not been around when that vote had happened. James bit his lip for a second then decided to go all in. He knew how 'Augustus The Jerk' felt about anyone under a certain age in the firm. Some of the younger people in the firm hoped that one day he would retire so that someone who was at least human would get promoted. It seemed that now, he was almost to the big boys table.

"Sirs, Madam. You all know about my skills and what I have done in the past for other firms before I took this job. I think that I got us the best deal. At least without overly risking losing them to our competition. That was the reason you all hired me after all. I'm very good at knowing when there is something left on the bone, and when it is time to sign at the bottom line." James made sure that he was sitting fully upright and maintained eye contact with the old warhorse.

Augustus seemed to eat one end of his cigar, then let another blue cloud out of his mouth. He looked around the room before he started speaking again. He had expected a comment from someone but the point about the income he brought into the firm was a low blow. It was true, but it was still a low blow. On top of that the young pup had the nerve to also open his mouth. He went ahead with his pre-planned second volley.

"We should at least be billing them by the hour." It was a weak attack, and it was not directed at the young turk. It was for the real people in the room.

Augustus was not looking at any one person in the room, but an evil grin covered his fat pasty face. He decided he was going to put a voice to something he had been thinking about all night. He would show them how to make some real money. He just needed to put it in the right lawyer lingo in case something came back to him.

"Maybe I ought to buy a few nice and large plots of land on those islands. Using my own money, of course. By the way, where did this Greek family get these kinds of assets?"

That was against the rules of the firm, trying to profit on information that a client had given them. What the rest in the room did not know was that the firm was getting caught using that information. As the words left his mouth the room went very quiet and all of the eyes in the room turned to look at the man.

James stood up from his overstuffed, expensive chair and stated to pace the room. He knew the rules that the firm was supposed to work under. From what he understood, it was also supposed to apply to the whole firm. He saw two of the senior partners shooting him a looks out of the corner of his eyes.

"I might be the youngest here, and the most junior partner, but I have been around the block a few times. These people, let me tell you." He was shaking his head as images flashed back into his forebrain.

James paced in a wide circuit as he prepared to defend his case before a panel of judges. He was used to this, only these judges were not the kind that sat to determine a case. They were only ones that would judge him by their own set of rules.

"They are smart. We have put how many man-hours into checking them out today alone? And we only have the images on my device and what my escort was able to pull of the vehicle's dashcam. We have nothing on them. Nothing, that is, besides a few names on a hotel's registry that do not match with anything we can find. But they were able to get my email address, and we still don't know where their emails are physically coming from. Now let me tell you something else."

James stopped pacing and looked at the man who was sharpshooting him. He was in his full defense lawyer mode. "The woman, Roslin, she might look like a school teacher, but she has steel in her spine. When she talked about not messing around, I had the feeling that she has no problem backing up whatever she says she's going to do. No matter how much blood flows because of her statement. And I think she's used to seeing it flow."

James could not help but feel a little chill run down his spin, and it was not caused by the people in this room. "The male, maybe husband, might not win any beauty contests. I still say he's military, or ex-military, maybe even an ex-black ops commander. And I'd bet that he has seen more than one person killed up close and personal. His eyes reminded me of my granddad. He was on the Adelaide and worked with the Yanks' underwater demo teams." James was reviewing every word and every look that had happened during that meeting on the beach as he was talking.

James sat back in his overstuffed chair with an easy grace. One that belied his lack of sleep for the last few days. _Well in for a penny in for a pound,_ he thought.

"I could not get a picture of the bald security person. The one that brought out the case from the wood line. But if he was not something like SAS, I will eat my office desk covered in hot sauce. As for this whole business, I think that if we play by our rules and don't play games with the bills, not only will we make a lot of money in a very short amount of time, we might also be able to work with them again. I can't put my finger on it, but this has the feel of only being the first part of a very long term plan. I'd bet that if we played games on the bills or anything else?" James was looking at the man who had started this discussion.

"They will find out about it. Make no mistake about that. And I don't think they would react very well to that kind of game."

James realized that few in the roomful of the most powerful people in the firm had thought that far ahead yet. With a few eye blinks, James realized that he was leading the whole firm right then. As he let his mouth stop working, he had to think that it made the most sense. After all he had spent the most time thinking about this new client.

The most powerful member of the group was Harvey Warner. His family was native to the outback of this county and they had practiced every form of law known to man. Including probably a few that had fallen off the books in the last century and a half of progress. He could see what the older man was doing, and decided he needed to step in before something was said or done that would be hard to take back in a practical or even legal sense.

 _Maybe it is time for Augustus to retire. It seems like he has lost both his edge and his moral compass,_ the senior partner mused.

"James has a point, and I agree with him. These people have not done anything that would lead us to believe they are not above board in any way. That is, besides that they like to keep a low profile in the world's combined press. I can appreciate that point of view myself. We have tens of millions of dollars of theirs right now. I say we re-vote now, again. Do we take the job or send them the money now?" Harvey kept his face still. He knew people well enough to know that after they had seen the money they tended to not want to let it go.

Each of the voting members in the room voted to take the task again. It was already in the bag, as they say, but a vote had to be made again just to make sure. They were all lawyers after all. It was one thing to look at the numbers And another one to now see what they could be dealing with. The three items were still in a safe in this building. They would stay there until the funds could be checked into a bank. Still, the numbers were very nice to see on a ledger. Even if it was only one percent of the total. It was a nice day's work.

The powerful man nodded as he looked around the room. Then he turned back to the youngest person in the room. "Good. James, you're the point man for this. Contact them, and let them know that we are taking them up on the contract. Pass along the total raised tonight by their items that you signed for. I think we need to see about getting more assets from them to be sold. I think that this forty-five million is going to go fast. If you would be so kind as to keep me in the loop on all communication with our new client. And no, I'm not taking them from you. I'm just going to be your backup. Just in case something happens to you. You're still first seat on this one." Warner was letting everyone in the room know that the new kid had his confidence and that if something went wrong, he would be there to stop it from getting out of control.

James had no idea, but Kathy was listening to every word being said in the room, and she was making notes as she frowned at how some in the room were acting. She could have actively taken over the electronic device in James's pocket. It would have only taken a few seconds for her to tell them what she thought about their idea. That was not what she had been told to do, even if she had the itch to do exactly that.

She was fuming as she listened in through the mic on the cell phone. They had taken her advice and chosen this group of jack wagons. All because she said they were the right ones for the job the Admiral had wanted done. Now it seemed like one or two of them might be starting to actively plan to cause her people issues in the near future. She was not going to let that happen. She opened up a new graphic user interface to add some notes on who was saying what. Between the other notes about this meeting, she was writing some code to keep track of them.

When James sent the notice, like he had been told to do via a short email, it did not take long to reach Kathy's system in the Raptor high above them, near the dark side of the moon. This had been planned for even before the Admiral had made landfall, so she sent a reply that had already been written for them. The file was sent at a Cylon's reaction speed but she was able to use the carbon copy or 'cc' of the first messages that had been sent to everyone else in that room.

This open pathway was all she needed to hack into every electronic device that the email had been sent to. It would keep her occupied for a few hours as she went digging into every computer and electronic device belonging to each senior member of this law firm. As it turned out, some of them had some interesting reading habits.

 _If you wanted to frak with my people, you better be ready for me to frak with you right back._ Kathy could almost feel her finger nails trying to track and retract in her hands. She had been told more than once over the last few years that her personality was like that of a cat. She had taken it to mean they were saying she was cute. Like a house cat.

Except that was not what the Earthers had been driving at when they made the comment. What they actually meant was that she was more like a lioness, nice and looked to be easygoing. That is, as she lazed around a tree, right up to the point her claws came out and dug into someone's body.

James had just set the device down after taking care of the business he had been asked to do. He did not even have a chance to take a sip of his twenty year old scotch before the ring tone he had set up for his new clients sounded out for attention. In the quiet room full of the most powerful people in the firm, it sounded like someone had just decided to blast the room something from the Top 40 radio music play list.

James had to keep a straight face and it was hard as he picked the device back up and read the reply to the message that had left it at the speed of light. All eyes were on him as he took the time to read and re-read the missive displayed on the small screen. It was very bad form to take personal communication in this high level of a setting. They had no idea that the ringtone that had just sounded was the one he had set to set apart communications from their newest client.

When he was ready, and maybe a little bit more to let the tension play out just a little longer, he made a tick mark on an icon to note the time and client before looking up at the rest of the room. He made his face say what he wanted, but he made a point not to look at Augustus while he addressed the rest of the room.

"Well that was fast. Sir, they said that if we can make it to the same spot that they and I had the meeting earlier by noon, well today, they have the rest of the agreed upon Californium 252 ready for pick up, along with one more stone of each type. They are being picked up by their boat, around that time. If we miss them, they will contact us in three or four days when they are at their next stop, and the drop off of the canister and stones can be made then."

James put the device back down on the small table near his chair, and thought about how quick the reply came. _How many hours do their people work in a day? And how much do they get paid to do it?_ Thought James carefully to himself.

It would not look good if the people in this room thought he might be looking to jump ship any time soon. They all were topnotch lawyers, with a boatload of contacts that could make his life miserable anywhere he could try to live. Then again, you had to make sure you looked out for number one. Lawyers and sharks had a lot in common. Predators that had no problem working alone and outside the area of any other member of their kind.

Warner gave a sly smile. "I think we can get that taken care of first thing." He picked up his own little device, and with quick finger movements passed the task on to his assistant. The man was in another room down the hall. He would make sure that everything was handled correctly, and before the sun rose. Both he and a group of four armed people would be sent to sign, and pick up, the valuable package. Warner decided it was going to be his job to round out the training of this new inner circle of the firm.

The sourpuss of the group could not let the good mood go on for too long. "Are we sure we don't want to see what else they are waiting to sell to cover this project? That stuff is dangerous, and the only reason it goes for so much cash is that not that much of it is made in a year."

Warner was getting a little tired of this, Augustus was in a bad mood even for him. He knew that the older man loved to make other people in the firm miserable. Having someone that can point out the downside to any argument, that is good. Sometimes. That way you don't fall head first down the hill.

"I don't think that will be a problem just yet with this stuff. Did you see that instrument manufacturer we had tonight? When he found out that we might have a few more ounces for sale in the near future? He looked like his heart was going to stop right there in the room." Warner was waving his cigar in the air, and he could not help but smile at the remembered image.

Between chuckles he continued. "He said that the hold up in its use, it's not the time it takes to make the items but the element to make the tools work in the first place. He said just having a few more ounces on the market this decade would allow us to reduce the inspection time for everything from oil production to aviation worldwide by a measurable margin. He also seemed very interested in the case that the element was shipped to us in. I will add it to the list of items that Augustus brought up to check out and let them know there's a party interested in acquiring it. He said that the Yanks need a fifty ton device to ship a single gram of that stuff across country on rails. What do you think about holding the next sale on the yacht?" Warner wanted to change the subject.

Any reason to use the law firm's mega-yacht was a welcome one. It had been taken from a Middle Eastern sheikh who had fallen on hard times. That was right after one of those oil price crashes rolled through the world's economy. The firm had been able to pick up the six hundred foot long luxury ship for about a third of its listed price, or even its assessed value, because they were willing to pay cash on the barrelhead for the vessel.

So far, it had only been used by the firm for a few New Year's parties, and one other the high end sale of some select items. The center point of that sale had been for the world's largest diamond. It had been suggested to be a great place to have another sale, when it was worth the time.

It was quickly agreed to by the majority of the eligible voting parties in the room and with a nod of Warner's head, the last meeting for the day broke up and the location for the next sale was set. The sun was going to be coming up in four hours when the last person left the room and locked the door behind them. Little did they know that the door might have been locked, but that would not stop Kathy Eight from rummaging around in every digital file that room was connected to. She would have days of fun looking into every file and digital folder.

* * *

The next two weeks pushed the whole firm into major overtime, and would have outright broken more than a few of the local labor laws. That is, if anyone would have had time to send those complaints to the labor board. They had been forced to bring in past employees and had flown in associates from a few overseas offices. The parking lot for the building was overfilled and the lights in the offices were never shut off.

Everyone was getting at least time and half or weekly bonuses in direct deposits for the work they were doing. As tasks for other clients were completed around the firm, the freed up personnel from those were also added to support the new client. Soon, no new client work was being sought after. The senior partners had already put out the word that after this new high demand case was successfully done, everyone was going to get a few weeks in paid vacation days. It would allow everyone to get a break of their own choosing, and to have a reset to better help the other clients that the firm had.

The first thing the firm did was get all of the land that was for sale on those two islands, and it was bought for the asking price. Even before all of those deals were done, the first cold offers were already accepted by the island residents. Within only two days of the first action, people had been leaving those two islands. They were going to any of a number of different locations with smiles on their faces and fat savings accounts waiting for them.

In that span of only two weeks, the islands' population, which had been just fewer than twenty thousand people, had dropped down to only eight hundred people still claiming the pair of islands home. By the end of the third week, that number was cut in half again, and the rate of decline showed no signs of slowing. Now that word had repeatedly gotten back to friends left on the islands that it was true about the money, the population had even less reason not to keep decreasing.

It was at the end of the third week that the first hints started to make it to the global information grid about the project. It was said that someone or some group was kicking indigent people off of their island paradise. By the end of the fourth week, the population was down to only a hundred and fifty people who had been living on those islands only a month before. All of them had signed a legal agreement with the soon to take effect changes in rules.

That lasted a week, before over fifty of them decided that they did not want to be that alone on the islands any more. The money was just too good not to leave and start a maybe better life somewhere else. They could stay and be poor, and maybe stay that way for the rest of their lives, or they could leave to retire on another island, somewhere close by to their old home. Just like all the rich people who had been visiting their islands had been doing for decades.

Now they could live the life of luxury, at least in their eyes, compared to the way they had been living. When the last boat and the final flight left the lagoon surrounded islands, only fourteen people were still living split between the two islands. Not one was under the age of fifty-five, and to say that they lived primitively, that was a major understatement. They lived so far from the beach that none of them had more than a little used foot path to the rest of the world. And that was the way that they liked it, thank you very much and get the hell off my land.

The law firm had been sweating that they would not be able to complete the contracted tasks in the required timeline that was mandated by the contract. In the end however, they closed the last land contract and were notified that the strange power couple was happy with the outcome. They had no problem that it was five days later than asked for.

James was informed only through a series of emails - there had not been another face to face with the power couple - that if they were needed the couple would use his firm again. It was just short of them having to put down a retainer of any kind. But when you make a law firm two hundred and fifty million US dollars, and that was what was cleared as profits alone, all within a timeline of a little over five weeks from start to finish? Well, then some rules are waived for that type of client, with very little heart burn.

The strange couple had pumped over twenty billion US dollars into the local area in less than two months. The effect of all of that money hitting so many different people's pockets was just starting to affect an area ranging from the Philippines in the west, to the Hawaiian Islands in the east. It was affecting even the economies of Australia and New Zealand in massively positive ways. Almost every major and some minor islands that fell within that area were also feeling the impact of so much money now being used or just saved in local banks to be loaned out to others to open businesses or buy everything from new homes to new boats.

All of that money flowing out of the firm had not been without issues for the firm to work through. A senior partner, five junior partners, and eight other associates had been released from the firm. All for breaching the ethics code of the firm, and that was the least of the charges any of them were facing. Two of those fired employees were still waiting for a judge to decide how much jail time they would be facing in the near future.

No one in the main employment body of the law firm knew what had happened to them. The rumor mill had put out a lot of different theories, but the primary one had been closest to the truth. Some freelance hackers had found some dirt on them. The hackers then had turned it all over to the rest of the voting partners for them to handle quietly before the cops showed up, but it seemed that the partners had let the cops take some of them away anyway. Around the water cooler, it was said that they were the sacrificial lambs, and to a point they were right. The senior partners wanted a list of people know that they took the information seriously.

After some house cleaning that the firm's human resources department covered up quite effectively, everyone settled back down to finish working on the largest project the firm had ever handled. Some of the firm's more demanding clients had been put on the back burner, though the firm had worked hard to make sure every client was taken care of before being put on that back burner. Word got around that the firm had a new high powered client, and that helped smooth some of the feathers.

That word slowly leaked out. They could not have stopped them all, but the only information that did not get out was what the project's end goal was. They were only working overtime on a short term project. Everyone in the firm had been warned that it would be unwise to leak information, and the amounts that were being kicked around for bonuses, well it was enough for most people not to want to ruin it. That was not true of everyone, but most people were thinking along those lines. It was expected that a few would try to do things under the table, and now they would not be getting a nice gift anytime soon. That is unless one likes prison food, which is its own special gift.

Four additional Raptor trips were made to drop off items to be sold to provide the needed funds. They carried things like gold, silver, platinum, osmium and more Aphrodite's tears and Purple Firestone gems. That was after all of the Californium 252 had been sold off. Not all of funds had been used to cover the cost of the main project that Bill and Laura had started rolling. The banking account to support refugees had also been growing at a steady pace. That was a public front to focus any attention to it and away from looking too deep in other areas. It was just too bad that it drew so much attention anyway after the third week of them buying up land.

Kathy and Boxey were also having more and more problems just trying to keep people from trying to find out about the real them. So far the list of people, countries, or other entities that had tried to launch cyber-attacks on the firm had grown like an oxygen fire. They were stopping almost all of them before the cyber people in the firm even knew about them. Every day the cyber people at the firm would brief their bosses that all of their systems were safe and normal. And they were, unless you count the times when one or both of the Colonial hackers wanted them to know something. Then they would have their hands full for a few days, earning their pay, before the Colonials stepped in and stopped the attacks dead in their tracks again.

Laura and the older Adama had started working on plans to put a stop to them when the time was right. Now all Kathy and Boxey could do was backtrack the attacks to the addresses, names and chains of command at the sources of the attacks. One address Kathy was watching was the reason that two people were already in jail cells instead of their offices at the law firm. More were being watched by a few different local police departments and divisions. She had found that people would talk about the oddest things. At least when they did not think anyone would be reading those emails they were sending from their office computers.

Kathy had found out that the last run by the Raptor was going to be attacked and the delivery crew killed to cover up the theft. All so that someone could take the gems and Osmium round coins that they were carrying on that run. They were going to just kill whoever was at the hand over point, including any security that the firm was going to have to receive the items, and the junior partner in charge of signing for the items.

Kathy had picked up on the plan early, and had kept an eye out for both parties for a while. She copied the files and as a test she sent them out. She did not even tell the Admiral until after the fact. She sent that bundle of files to James first. It was more see what he would do with the information than anything. She was not disappointed when he took the information and sent it to both of his firm's top bosses. He also sent the information to the police in the same email under the blind carbon copy function.

He did this with only as much delay as can be expected from having to read the files once or twice to believe the data. Kathy was impressed with James's grasp of colorful vernacular. She even made note of some of the words she was picking through the mic on his computer. She would have hours of fun dropping those words in the Galactica's bar for months to come.

* * *

Bill and Laura's fun little vacation ended as soon as they made it back to the flagship. That was after they made sure that the right people had picked up the over two kilograms of Californium 252 they had in the back of Racetrack's Raptor. Both the flagship and the mining ships had left Alpha Centauri only a few hours after the little craft had returned to the Battlestar with its now well-tanned passengers.

When the flagship returned to the rest of the fleet in the system with two habitable planets the pair got a surprise. Somehow the Quorum had found out where the two had spent their vacation time. It had not gone over well with this leadership body that had felt its power slipping away more and more over the last few years. They had been transmitting demands about wanting to see the two of them as soon as they had left the fleet.

Except the first message was exactly a week after the pair had left on their vacation. A date was given to them for a meeting with the President of the Colonies. It was the published date that the flagship and the mining ships were supposed to return to the system. While on vacation, the Admiral had already decided that they were going to make a change to how the supply missions were conducted. From then on, t he Raptors spying on the humans or any other mission to that system would all be launching from one of the two Battlestars. They would not be using Alpha Centauri group as origination point for the foreseeable future.

When the flagship settled in from the jump that returned it to the rest of the fleet at Tau Ceti, it was met with a summons to appear for Laura. It was a legal document, and if she did not obey the document, she could have been put in jail for up to six months no matter what her title might be. The short of this summons was that the Quorum wanted to know what she had been up to for the last week. It would seem that they did not like being told she was out of contact when they had demanded to see her.

The date and time were already set, and so under the law of her people, she had to be present to face the full Quorum at that date and time. The Admiral was at her side even though he had not been on the summons as delivered. If anyone had thought that he would not be there with her, they were a fool and deserved their fate in life, no matter how short it might be.

This sort of legal summons was public information and it was announced to all of the news stations. It was not received that well by the managers. They knew it was a hit job and they knew that the rest of the refuges would know it was a hit job on the President. Did they suppress the information? No. It was announced during prime time and that was about it. Bill and Laura both used the time as an excuse not to talk to anyone from the press about the summons. This so did not break the heart of anyone on the flagship.

On the date and at the exact time specified on the document she had been given, Laura stood up from her chair and straightened her new bought Earth made skirt. Everyone on the mission had bought a new set of clothes before they left. She took the podium at the head of the main table in the room, ready for the grilling that she knew was about to start.

"I am here, as requested. What are the Quorum's questions?" She started looking down the table at each of the dozen chairs being occupied by the elected body.

Laura had to blink a few times to keep her eyes from watering, when a larger and very bright white light suddenly came on. She was now spot lighted, like something out of a cheap crime drama novel. Maybe, it was so that she could not see the rest of the people in the room. In an instant. She knew this was to throw her off her stride, and drama.

"Where have you been?" This came as the first question out of the blinding light.

Roslin thought she knew who it was, but she was not a hundred percent sure. The bright light had been turned on before her sharp mind could pin names to a certain location within the room. That did not mean that she was thrown by someone maybe trying to disguise their voice. She had been a teacher for way too many years for a trick like that to work on her.

Laura smiled. The smile even made its way to her eyes. _Okay I can play this game,_ she thought to herself as she kept her face stone still with the smile fixed to her face.

"I was on vacation, as I informed you all weeks ago. In fact, the vacation was under the advice of the flagship's doctor and the members of this body. You all were saying that I should take said vacation after all."

A different voice came out of the dark, this time. "So you deny that you went to visit this new group of humans, on their home planet?" The tone of voice was not friendly. It was in fact dripping with contempt as the words filled the not small room.

Laura smiled a little more and she made sure that it was friendly looking. She knew it was a fake smile, but she did not know who might be watching. She was betting that it was going out live to the whole star system. If not, then it was being recorded for a later broadcast in the very near future.

"No, I don't." The tone she used had a bit of a bite on it. And it got harder as she spoke the rest of her statement.

"I have been working on one of the plans we posted to the network months ago. I just chose to use my off time to do a job instead of sending and risking someone else's life. After all, it is in the job description to visit other occupied worlds to conduct talks for the betterment of the Colonials of Kobol." She had been carrying that little bit of constitutional information for a few months now and this was the perfect time to rub their noses into that law. Everything she had just said was to the letter of the law for the Colonies of Kobol.

A voice she knew very well came out from one of side of the blinding light. "Would you please bring us up to speed on this plan you are talking about? You and the Fleet Commander have been very tight-lipped about what was planned out in any detail."

Laura was still smiling. It was very true that details had been very limited on the plans that had been worked on. They had not even put out which plan they were actively pursuing. They had only put a mass of crap on the data network and let people figure out the ones that best fit whoever was reading them. Now she was going to refine the outline. After all, there were over two hundred ideas listed as plans that Bill, Lee, Kelly and she had put out there.

"We are working on Ajax. Bill and I were able to look into the local laws and found that we could exploit a few loopholes our computer people found while doing the course of their work. I authorized the transfer of some of the federal assets we have in storage to help out with the Ajax plans. That falls under the rights of the President under Article 7, and has been used many times in our past. We are using those excess assets to help the Colonies as a whole. Now with these assets, we are working on obtaining title to some land on the planet in question."

She stopped talking to catch her breath, and to let that little bit of information sink in. All before she lowered the boom on them, with the next bit of detail. "We are talking about some eighty square kilometers of tropical island real-estate. It's far enough away from the major political players on the planet to be out of sight, but still be in what's considered a safe area of the planet, as well as still be on the trade lanes that we will need to access."

A sharp voice cut through the air like a gunshot, coming from a different direction than where the last speaker had been seated. It was filled with hate so heavy, that it made the room drop a dozen degrees of temperature in a heartbeat.

"Why are we buying this land? Why don't we just take it from the heretics?"

A second voice spoke up next as soon as the first person had yelled out his comment. One that Laura thought was more an attempt to drown out or cover up for the oxygen thief who had just spoken.

"Why now? Why here? What is the difference between now and when we were at New Caprica a few years ago?"

Laura let the first comment slide for now and formulated a response to the second one instead. After all, sometimes you just could not fix stupid. The second question was one that she had expected to be asked and had thought out an answer for that she and Bill thought explained it best.

"Why is this different than that ice ball we left behind us? Let's look at the numbers first, shall we? Even with the help of our new friends on that Hades' Hole, it took over fifteen thousand people that were fit, healthy, and motivated, all just to feed the almost fifty thousand of us. And that was from an almost fully established production and fishing area for that food. We have had an average growth rate of just under two percent in the fleet per year after we left the Nebula."

Laura waited again, to see if maybe someone was going to want to check their notes. When she did not hear any movements, she started back up with her explanation. "We need over ten thousand more people from that same productive group to just keep our defenses strong enough to fully man the two Battlestars, Vipers, and Raptors alone. So now if you're doing some quick math, that leaves less than twenty-five thousand people as being too young, too old or otherwise incapable of taking up arms. That smaller body will have to be the one to do and make everything else our fleet and people need for the next decade or two. They will have to do that, and help make and guide the next generation so it will develop properly."

Laura could now hear a few sidebars going on but it was a low rumble. She was getting a little on the angry side and vented just a little, but not too much. She was shaking her head from side to side very slowly.

"We just don't have the people to do all that needs to be done. If we can work with these people, then the numbers change. Besides, they have things we need. If we can buy most of our food from them, that alone would open up a lot of productive manpower to be used on other tasks. That is at minimum. The more we can be supplied by them, the more people we can use on other tasks that we all know need to be done."

Laura let a sneer come to her face. "You all know... like build homes, schools, and factories to help speed up the rebuilding of our ships. Or gods forbid that we all can have access to some new shoes. Now, I'm not saying we would only get our food from them. As we have found out before, only having only one source for something means trouble. What if it goes away suddenly due to an accident of some kind, or maybe enemy action?"

The oxygen thief jumped in again, and you could hear his chair move across the floor. "Why don't we just take it from the dumb monads? I say we just jump into orbit, and have our fleet bomb a few of their cities till they convert!"

The voice the rock with lips spouted out had in it the tone of one who truly believed in what he was saying. This was not someone just trying to make political points, this was a fanatic. There had been resurgences in militant religion among the fleet after the information about this Earth became well known. It seemed like every year or so, there would be a flare up on one of the ships in the Rag Tag Fleet. Now it seemed like it was time to have another flare up. It was not a good time to have too many loose cannons going around the fleet.

Laura kept her face just the way she wanted it as she thought. _I was hoping that the Sons of Ares getting wiped out would have been enough to keep their wings clipped._

Bill was about to explode and Laura was starting to get worried about his blood pressure. Instead of holding it in, he rose from this chair against the wall with a lethal grace and he spoke to the group behind the spot lights. He was in full dress uniform with every medal shining in the bright light. He was an imposing sight, and now his anger was showing, the storm clouds very much visible on his face and he did not care who saw it. He wanted them to see it. He was the commander of The Fleet, and everyone knew it. He was going to bring down the wrath of the Gods on someone.

"You want my people to bomb defenseless cities from orbit? What are we, Cylons? What's next? Do you want us to gather up their young women, and open up baby farms like what Starbuck found?"

His voice was not loud, but it cracked across the room like gun shots in a tin can. "I will not order my people to bomb civilians. If we are attacked, and that's the only way? Then yes, to a point. But not like this. I will not stain my people's honor with the blood of this people's civilians. Not for you. Not for anyone." The last three words were spoken softly, but they did not lose power. By the lower volume setting Bill had given his words, they were a warning. It was not a treat. It was a level statement of fact, that he would not sit on his hands.

A crash brought Laura's eyes forward away from Bill and almost made her jump out of her skin. The light that had been in her face just a few seconds before was now rocking in its own wreckage. Little more than a mix of pieces of glass and porcelain on the metal floor decking. Kelly had been nearest it, and it looked like he had knocked it over for some reason. Then again he looked surprised and no one had seen his arm move, and so the blame was put elsewhere.

Maybe it was so that Kelly could have a better look at who had been talking? Laura knew, after so many years of working with the man, that he was a hell of a card player. She also could tell that he had something in his dominant hand, which was still under the table. Laura just hoped that if he did shoot someone, the weapon would not blast a hole in the side of the Admiral's ship.

Captain Kelly looked like a tiger with a tooth ache, and a need to smash and kill to make it feel better. Normally she thought that the Earther had a great poker face during their briefings. Now, all it held was barely controlled murdering rage if you know where to look. The bad part was that he had a target not only in mind, but within reach. He had his target locked with his eyes, while the lamp was still rocking from the fall.

His voice was iron hard now that the light had been moved out of his way by an unknown set of hands. The truth was he did not remember moving the lamp when he pulled his small weapon out of its holster. When asked later he would just shrug his shoulders.

"Force them to convert you say? Bomb them, till they convert? Over ninety-nine percent of my people are monotheists or heretics in other ways. Are you going to bomb us from high orbit too when you get the chance? What do you think we are going to do to you while you're trying that little trick? Before we voted to join your people? Let's just say that we had our own plans to protect our people or people who are our friends. You are on a highway to hell, and you're getting speeding tickets along the way! Keep crap like this up and I will help you along the way!"

Kelly could tell that the other man was trying to backpedal, but then he stopped with a sudden jerk and locked eyes with him. Laura was slowly counting. She had a mental number that she thought she might get to before Kelly pulled out whatever he was holding from under the desk and shot someone. That number got lower, a lot lower, when she saw the other man set his shoulders. He was going to challenge the Earther leader and military man.

Not feeling the building threat, the middle age man opened his mouth again. "What does it matter? They're just dumb barbarians! Their Vipers can't even reach orbit. They think that this planet is the birthplace of man, of all things. They must be made aware that this is heresy. Everyone must pay homage to the gods or face their wrath. If the Fleet won't do the job, well the gods will! And I'm sure there is someone in the fleet who will do the gods' will once it is pointed out to them." The man was in a full on rapture, oblivious to what he had done.

If anyone thought that Kelly would let that one go, well they needed a date with the Bioreactor. "If what you mean by that, is that bit of work to shift all of the nuclear weapons from the Battlestars - I believe the idea was so that each ship in the fleet can defend itself - then you're wrong, you little twit. If one weapon is fired by a Colonial ship and it goes into a ground based city for no good reason, let's just say that the next nuke? It will come from me or my people. And it is going right back at you." Kelly was pointing with his off hand at the talking monkey. Now he started to wave it around a little like it was its own weapon as he kept speaking.

"No matter who you're hiding behind in any ship in the fleet, they will die with you. And oh, if you're thinking about taking me out, I would lay odds that every one of my people feels the same way I do. Or I can take care of this problem here and now."

Kelly pulled the handheld weapon out, and put it on the table top with a clack of metal on expensive wood. "Let me remind you, about one little thing. After the Cylons bombed your people's cities, you had groups forming to fight the Cylons in the radioactive fallout. That trait of man is not limited to your people. If you try something that dumb, the people on that planet will fight back with every bit of blood they have left. You might kill them by the boatloads, but you and yours will die right along with them. That is until no one is left to fight the Cylons, if they find us again."

Kelly was lovingly patting the side of this sidearm with every word that left his lips. It was almost like he was petting a small daggit. Or he was holding one back from biting someone who desperately deserved it. In a way, that was exactly what he was doing.

Now, that Laura could see everyone in the room. She realized that the person talking was not a member of the council, but he was sitting behind some of Tom's old friends. She could see the little toad's eye bulge out at the sight of the weapon and she could tell that he could not take his eyes off the thing, while the Earther talked and tapped the weapon without looking at it. Earther weapons had taken on a near mythic ability to kill and destroy since the first time anyone of the Colonials had seen the devices used. This was the first time that any weapon had been brought to a meeting like this since the Cylon attack. Not to mention be pulled with a thinly veiled hint that it was going to be used on someone in the room before it was put away again.

The sweating toad looked first at Bill, and then at Laura, and back to Bill, before he could put a few words together. His face was shining with the sweat that was coming out of his skin pores. "You can't let him do that to a member of my class. You better bring your thug to heel, or the gods will for you." The voice started to have a more whining tone to it by now. This was not going the way he had planned on it going.

Bill Adama was still standing, but shook his head in the very sharp and aggressive negative motion. Then he smiled a slow smile that would have scared a shark out of the ocean. "Restrain him? Frak that! While we frown on weapons being brandished in this setting, you're not even a part of this Council. You're in no position to be making the comments you just did. And if a ship so much as arms a nuke, we will know. If there's no probable cause we'll consider that ship to be under a state of mutiny and will treat it as such. And then, my marines will come after you even if you're in another ship."

Bill turned to look at Kelly with that same smile on his face. "Put that away, Captain. If this dumb frakker tries anything we'll take him in as a mutineer. You can have the pleasure of shooting him then. Legally, even."

Laura was thanking the gods herself that she had listened to her political sense. The summons had not declared this meeting to be closed. So she made sure that a video and audio recording was being made in the next room that only one other person in this room knew about. She had wanted this so that she could have it posted to the fleet network after she left the meeting if she needed it. She put her arm out to make it look like she was reining the Admiral in. _This is going to be political gold._

Laura put both of her arms out in a stopping motion. "Now, now. Let's calm down, gentlemen. We are not going to attack other humans, not under my watch. If we are attacked, then yes. And with everything we got. But we will try to keep the civilians deaths to as low as we can."

Now she turned and looked around the room with the same look she had given the toad. "We will trade with them though, and now back to what I was being asked. Under the local laws of this planet and the general area we are looking at the land would fall under our laws. And those laws will be enforced by our people."

Laura dropped her arms and let her face go like stone. "I want this land to be a trade hub between their people and ours. We cannot think of ourselves as members of different Colonies any more. We are only fifty thousand people, against at least six billion. That is B as in billions, of humans, on this one planet. If we are a dozen different Colonies, we will be absorbed and our culture will be so diluted as to be lost from history."

Now that things seemed to have calmed down a few degrees, Laura was ready to drive deeper into her points. "Captain Kelly has a point. What happens when the Cylons find us again? We do not have enough people to stop the Cylons alone. And what if they find this group of humans? How do you think they will fare against an attack by the Cylons?"

Laura looked around the room after taking a second to sip her water, and she could tell that they were listening to every word she was saying. She knew that now was the time to strike. "I can tell you. They will fight, and they will die by the tens of millions at their hands. And every drop of that blood will be on our hands, because we made the Cylons in the first place. And they will have followed us to this planet."

She paused again to let the affect build just a little more. "Now. What I think we should do, is that we should slowly bring this group of humans to a higher level of technology. So that when the Cylon do find us again, we will have the numbers and weapons to make John wish he had never stepped out of his tank."

Laura kept talking for over an hour, as she pointed out details. She only stopped when someone jumped in with a question, or when she expected any. She even took a few questions from the note taker for today's events.

It was a well written speech, one that she had planned on giving two days from now. Now it was out, and it looked to have had a lot better effect than she could have ever hoped for. She was letting her people know that they were going to be here for some time and that they now had a purpose. They were not running or hiding anymore. They were here to protect people who were now at risk because of what the Colonials had unleashed on the galaxy so many decades ago.

She took a breath and looked around the room one more time. She kept her face very still, not wanting to reveal too much of what was going on inside her head. "That is the plan that the Admiral and I have been working on during our vacation. We already have some items on the ground to support humans on each of the planets in this system. I plan for that also to be done up for those islands we are buying. It is hoped that will be able to act as homes for as many of our people who want to live there. And I want and need it to be a trading post between us and the locals on that planet. Now what has not been asked by anyone sitting this table, is why in the technical sense of the question."

She looked at each person to her front. It was now time to drop the hammer on these people, and soon the rest of the fleet. Without looking over her shoulder she gave an order. "Bill, would you please pass out the report on the ships of the fleet, and explain it to them. I fear you might have to use small words with some of them, if what I've just heard is an example of the brain power in this once august legal body?" Laura let the disdain show on her face, and let it drip from her voice. She was in full showmanship mode now.

The older Adama passed out a three page packet to teach of the seated personnel. It took him a while, because he made sure to avoid getting to close to one particular group of seated people. He had been reviewing these files with Laura just before this meeting. It was hoped that he was not going to need to pull these files out to help keep Laura out of some hot water. Now it would seem that she was going to use it now to smash a few noses in to broken and bloody messes. He was okay with that. He was wanting to bloody a few faces himself, and it was not in the metaphorical sense.

After Bill dropped the last set of pages off, he stood by Laura and addressed the group. By now he had his temper under control and the heat coming out of his eyes had ebbed slightly. He still projected with his command presence though. He had the upper hand and he was going to keep it and use it to gain whatever advantage he could squeeze out of it.

"As you can see, this is a list of every ship in the fleet. If you look in the last column of each row, you will see the current operational state of that ship by percent of operation. I will summarize now, and you can check up on it when you feel like it."

Bill waited for ten seconds, and then started talking again. "Each ship in the fleet needs major dry-dock time, or outright scrapping. If we don't, we will start losing ships to damage and worn out systems. It will happen slowly, but as we increase stress and loading on the surviving ships, they will start to fail faster and faster. This includes the two Battlestars we have left. It is assessed that the Pegasus will be the last space worthy ship within the fleet, in-between twelve to eighteen months from today." Bill took his seat, now that he had dropped his bombshell on them.

Laura had that grin a shark would have loved to have. "In short, we need to rebuild all of the ships. And without any space docks to put our ships in, we are frakked. That is unless one of you all happen to know where a dozen or so slips might be located at nearby? The rebuilding Captain Kelly and his people helped us do, it only bought us some time. The ships that we have, very few of them were designed from the keel out for long range and unsupported service." She looked around quickly, and no one wanted to meet her eyes expect for the frog.

Laura waited for a bit longer, letting the quiet linger, and get very uncomfortable for them. "I see that no one in this room had thought to find that bit of information. Now we will need to rebuild a ground base, first. And we know how well we did at that task when we landed on New Caprica the first time."

She looked over her glasses at the room. "Now some of you will say, well the Earthers did it all by themselves. I will remind you all. That they had one tenth of our population that had the skills to cut a small town out of the wilderness. They were already in family groups. And they took over a year to get some kind of housing for all them off of just those two ships. Oh and they could eat most of the flora and fauna they found on the planet. Now I have another question for you all. What do we have to build the homes for our people with right now?"

Laura pulled up a sheet with some notes on it from the folder she had put them in before this meeting began. It took her about a dozen seconds to find what she was looking for. "I looked it up, and asked some civil engineers in the whole fleet. We have ten military cargo trucks that can carry about three tons of cargo each. There are ten small two passenger capacity all wheeled drive trucks, along with some four door sedan styled all terrain transports. We also know that Captain Kelly and his people captured an armored bulldozer, and four Colonial military SEE's or Small Emplacement and Excavators with a few more military cargo trucks."

Laura folded her hands over the document, and she let a concerned look come to her face. "How do we build anything like a civilization to support a population of our current size with that little of a support infrastructure to help us? I was told flat out by our people, and Captain Kelly's. It's either you don't, or you take a few decades to do it. I don't know about you, but the idea of living in ships that are slowly rotting away around my ears for a few decades, that does not sound like living to me. Does it to you? Does it sound like a nice idea for the people who voted for you? We will make these two planets the center of our civilization, set up a mining outpost in what the locals call Alpha Centauri, and a trading outpost on that planet at the same time."

Now that she had rubbed their noses into the facts. Ones that they had been briefed on a dozen times before. Even if no one had connected all the dots for them at the time of those briefings. Laura had her temper fully under control along with Bill's and Kelly's. Well controlled for her enough to use it in a situation like this.

"So that is my plan, and the one that I am working on until it is finished along with Bill, Kelly and some others. If you go against me, I will take it to the people and let them vote on it. I truly believe that the majority of the people in the fleet will back up my plan for the future of our people and why they should."

She did not wait to be released from the meeting like she was required to after being legally summoned. She just picked up her papers, and the hidden camera with some fanfare. Without even looking back, she left the room behind her. Bill was right on her heels, but he did stop long enough to shoot a look to one person that could have peeled paint off his Battlestar. When she made the turn towards the docking pod, he reached and slid his arm around hers. With this leverage point, he diverted her to the Pegasus' flag cabin instead of where her ship was docked in one of the two flight pods. He wanted some private time with his woman and the news reporters could all go pound sand for all he cared about how it may look.


	21. Chapter 21 New Neighbors

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 21 New Neighbors**

Earth Mid March 2018

7 Weeks After the Start of the Project.

The President of the United States was working in her office. She was very upset that this meeting was running longer than planned. She had thought all of the email problems were behind her, at least after she won the national elections two years ago. She had been wrong, very wrong. All of those emails she had ordered deleted, and then the space on the hard drives overwritten, all had somehow seen the light of day once more. Even after all of that money she had spent on Bleach Bit to get rid of the damn things.

The meeting only had four people in the whole room. She did not count the secret service in that number when she did the headcount of the room's attendants. That was mainly because she had grown used to them being around her after all of these years in public service. She was focused on listening to how her staff was going to handle the recurring issue when her desk phone started chirping for attention.

No one called her on her personal phone anymore, and nowadays she never received phone calls from out of the blue. That was what having a staff was for. As it turned out, the phone ringing was not the portable device normally in her pocket. That should have been enough to set the alarm bells off for her but it did not, and when she looked at the black screen, it just irritated her even more that someone was interrupting this meeting about putting out the email fire again.

She stormed over to the two hundred year old wooden desk and made ready to give the caller a piece of her mind. The way it should have worked was that someone from the communication staff would be on the other end of the ornate phone. They were safe to vent some spleen on, and she had done it a few times every month. She had always done that and it had not changed after she was sworn in as the forty-fifth President of the United States. As soon as the old style handset touched her ear though, a voice that was oddly electronic sounding and yet somehow still female came through the device to reach her ears.

"Henna Clay, this is more important than your current email issue. We are contacting the leaders of China, Russia, the EU, and the UN at the same time. We want to tell you all that you are not alone any more in the universe. Right now you're thinking this is a joke of some kind. It is not. At 1200 GMT, one of our scout craft will appear over the area you call Sea of Storms, on your moon. It will stay there for thirty minutes, and then it will leave your system once again when those thirty minutes are up. You all will be contacted twelve hours later with more details. Do not fire at our ship. If you do, it will defend itself and you will not like it. Your name has just been entered into the history books of your country. I would suggest that you don't blow it."

The line went dead in the President's hands, with just the silence coming to her ear. After a few seconds, she pulled it away from her ear, looking at it briefly before snake quick turning on her staff.

"Is this some kind of joke? I will have your asses!" Her tone was that of one going into a full fledged warpath, and she was known to have a truly epic propensity for such.

She was well into ranting and raving by now. She was on a roll and did not want to stop now that she had started. It was no longer about the phone call. It was her being upset about the emails and anything else she could think of. If she had horns, they would have popped out of her head and a pitch fork would have appeared out of thin air in her right hand.

This ranting went on for seven minutes thirty-six seconds. One might ask why the time was noted so exactly for the history books. The reason was that that was the exact time noted on the electronic log when her secretary knocked hard, twice on the Oval Office door. He then entered room without waiting to be told to. This was a major breach of etiquette. When the door opened, the Secret Service and POTUS turned to look at the intruder. A very perplexed and almost poleaxed sectary quickly made eye contact with his boss. He did not even notice the hands of the agents move toward hidden holsters.

"Ma'am we have the respective heads of the EU, China and Russia along with the Secretary-General of the United Nations. They are all on the phone waiting for you. They would not tell me anything that might make sense. They want to talk to you right now and they sound very distressed."

Henna stopped her rant mid word, and quickly started to work the issue. She turned and walked around her famous desk. She looked out of the great windows, now thinking that maybe the phone call was not a prank of some kind.

"Put them all on a conference call. I will handle them all at once. Make sure we have translators online for everyone. I want Defense and State here, right damn now. Make sure you let the bunch of them know that we are working to get those two in on the call. That should buy some time. We need to keep them from having kittens out in public again."

Henna now told the people in the room about the call she had just received. Amazingly she tried to keep it to as close to word for word as she could. They were even more shocked than the President had been. They did not have much time to get over the shock, though. Not with the most powerful people in the world waiting on the phone ten feet away.

This was where all of her experience in politics kicked in at something like overdrive. The President compartmentalized the shock for a few seconds. Just long enough to get the ball rolling, at least in one direction. If it turned out to be the wrong one, she could work on changing it later and finding someone else to blame for any missteps. It was called the DC two step for a reason.

It took only about two minutes for everything to be set up, and when Henna was ready she pushed a button on the phone. She made sure that her voice was light, but still forceful. She thought it made her sound presidential. Very few people had the nerve to tell her that it sound anything but that.

"Well, if you're all calling me, then you must have gotten the same message I did. I had thought it might be a joke or something just after I put the damn phone down. My people are trying to backtrack where it came from, and I would guess your people are doing the same thing?"

She waited as each person on the other end put in their two cents worth to her statement. Not for the first time, she thought about the public message most of these people had been putting out for years to anyone who would listen or broadcast it. When they were in trouble, it was the good old US of A that was the first they all called for help, or answers. She had to shake her head to get back on track. She was working on how she could turn this information towards both blurring the email issue, and making her a shoo-in for a second term.

In her daydreaming of a second term as President of the United States, she missed something. She had to look over at the steadily growing amount of print that would be the transcript of this meeting. She found the area that she had missed and her eyebrows went up a little.

"Look, I don't know if someone is playing a game or not but can we afford to be wrong? I will be calling my space people personally, and we will have Hubble looking for whatever might be over the Sea of Storms in six hours thirty-four minutes from now. If the Secretary General would like to come by? He can use the situation room with me and my people. Whether this does turn out to be real or not, we will need to work some things out. Let's tentatively put something down for two hours after the event whether it happens or not. If it does not happen, we still have something to talk about. Like say, what we are going to do to whoever hacked into all of our communications systems to have fun with all of us and waste so much of our time."

The conversation ended just a handful of seconds later. They all had things to do even if this turned out to not be a true first contact with an alien species. The rest of the day was a blur as appointments were moved and tasks assigned and worked by a growing list of staff members. The same room made famous when OBL was killed was again the center of attention today. It was a lot smaller than most people who saw those released images would have thought.

* * *

The first person to show was the Administrator of NASA, followed a few steps later by the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and the Secretary of Defense. Each was allowed only a single hanger on. The room was too small for much more people to attend without being in each other's hip pockets. Even the White House photographer had to wedge himself into a corner thirty minutes before POTUS showed up at the small room. It was on her orders that he was there and only in case this did not turn out to be a hoax. She needed and wanted all the good press she could get and the White House photographer was well versed at how to get the best images.

Her staff was already working on coming up with three different cover stories. Pretenses to explain why the head of the UN had been flown form NYC to DC on such short notice or absent an announcement being given beforehand. There was very little that one could do to hide someone with such a high profile coming into the White House. Not in the day and age of social media and when it seeming like every person in the world had a cellphone camera. Only one of those cover stories was even close to being the real reason for the visit.

The POTUS and the Secretary General walked into the small, but very secure, room together. It was all smiles between them, but it was well known that the two did not always get along that well in private. Even so, she knew that images would be taken by the house photographer, and it would play well later on the news reports. She would even be able to use them both for fundraising for her campaign and for her foundation.

The pair took their seats, with her at the head of the small table and him at her right side. The clock on the wall said they had three minutes until the appointed time given to them on the phone. The POTUS tried to pass the time making some small talk with the head of the UN, but his only reply to her was silence.

He knew that no matter how this turned out the woman seated next him would try to make political points out of it, and it would not matter who she stepped on to do it. The bad part was that the head of the UN knew she had the media contacts to get away with it. There was very little he could do about it, at least in the short term.

When chatting up the head of the UN failed, Henna turned to the rest of the small room. "Okay, what have we got keeping an eye out?"

She was playing it up with a slight southern accent. She had no idea that everyone in the room knew it was fake, or that it even grated on a few nerves in the room every time she tried to use it. Not that she cared what they thought about her very fake attempts to be friendly. She knew that she was the boss, and she would do whatever she basically wanted.

The new head of NASA jumped up and started speaking. He was hoping that even if this did not turn out to be true he might be able to have the POTUS get him more money for some projects that he felt were underfunded. He was not a scientist, he was a career bureaucrat that had gone to all of the right schools. The bigger his department got, the more money he made, and the more power that he could use to grow even larger. It was the nature of the beast, and he liked it that way. He could care less about the science or if a project comes in on time or on budget.

"The Hubble is pointed and collecting data as we speak. We also have six of the largest ground base telescopes, both visual and radio, pointed in the direction of the Sea of Storms. They are all sites that have remote access, so we just took over the feeds coming from them away from the different colleges. If anything happens out there, we will be able to see it at the speed of light and we will be able to control the release of any information. Now Hubble has a support staff of about fifty people in direct contact with the data. That might make it more difficult to control any leaking that you've said you're worried about."

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was not a happy person. He was trying to find out what was going on, but no one was talking to him. He had just been told to be at this meeting, but nothing else had been given to him. He had not even had time to plug very deeply into the DC rumor mill for any clues. He saw this as a chance to find more out.

"So what are we looking for?" He asked using his kind old grandfather voice.

The head of NASA was a political person, and had been maybe born that way. That he had been appointed by the current VP proved that to most people. On top of that, this administration trusted them more than it did the military. He saw this as a way to get a dig at the military, but seem helpful at the same time. After all, the military liked to launch rockets, and those were rockets that NASA was paid a lot of money to build, launch, and help manage.

"A recorded message was sent to the major world leaders all over the planet. They said that a scout craft from outside of our solar system would be arriving at 1200 GMT over the Sea of Storms, on Luna." He could not help but let a tone slip into his voice. It said, _I'm on the inside and you are not anymore_.

The leader of the military forces of the US was now really not happy that this was the first he was hearing about this. It was only through years of training that he did not show any reaction to the news. He had no idea if it was true or not. He was thinking that if it was true, did he just let his forces get Pearl Harbored? The tone the bureaucrat used rolled off his back like water on a duck.

"Do we know now how big this 'scout' is going to be?"

He looked over at his Commander in Chief. He gave her a level look that kept the hate he felt was building up well hidden. "I think we should go to a more robust Def Con level, Madam President."

The POTUS frowned. She did not like the military. She had been in her 20's during the 1960's after all. "No, if this is a hoax, we don't want to look like fools. If we raise readiness, the press will get wind of it and we would be asked some pointed questions that we do not want to have to address at this time."

The military man did not agree with what his Commander in Chief had just said. He had no doubt that if something went wrong she would be pointing the press at him, saying it was his fault something bad happened. He felt that he needed to push this and looked at the recorder out of the corner of one eye.

"If I have to choose between looking like a fool and my troops being Pearl Harbored in their bases with their pants down? I say it's worth it, and vote me preferring to look like a fool. Or as I happen to look at it, being prepared."

The POTUS hated dealing with the military, and senior military in particular. The lower ranked ones were not... as bad. They always showed her the respect that she was owed. "General, that is why you're not in politics, and I am." She hoped that would shut up the four star general. If not, she would ask him to leave the room so that the adults could do the real work.

Before anyone could say more, a live feed started playing on the 80 inch UHD OLED display mounted on the far wall of the room. When the clock hit zero everyone held their breath, whether they meant to or not. It was just an ingrained reaction to the magnitude of what might or might not happen. When it was ten seconds past the expected time, the POTUS bit her lower lip.

She was just was about to announce that it was all a hoax after all when the image changed and the sounds of people starting to freak out came loudly on. "Visible anomaly detected! Pan North 14 and West 89, to put it center on the optics!"

This came over the speaker that only a few on the other end of the transmission down in Houston had known was on and active. The voices were bordering on teenage horror movie levels of freaking out.

On a side screen an image from one of the ground based telescopes was displayed along with the data from the main room thousands of miles away. The flash of light was now gone, and all eyes were watching a strange angle sided craft with a set of short low mounted wings coming out of its mid-point. It was lazily floating above a gray white background that looked a little pockmarked. It had twin engines mounted aft that looked like they took over a third of the craft's total length. The craft was not moving that fast as it crossed the screen. In fact, it was barely exhibiting any perceivable motion at all.

The military member in this group was the first to come to his senses, and asked what he hoped was an obvious question. "Are we recording this?"

He was amazed that his voice sounded normal to his own ears. He was even able to get the words out of his mouth without shouting over some of the people who were still staring at the image of the alien craft now on display.

The day to day head of NASA was snake quick, and picked up a table mounted secure phone. He started punching numbers as fast as his fingers could move over the pad. The general's question was asked again, and the head of NASA nodded up and down to the General.

"Yes. We are recording it in all of the bands that we can. A feed is also being sent to NORAD and NorthCOM, both are live real time feeds." The Admnistrator of NASA was not even thinking about how he had treated the older man just a few seconds before.

Everyone else in the room was mesmerized by the strange craft, which they did not know was called a Raptor, as it flew a hundred miles over a massive dark area on the moon called a sea. Even the POTUS was at a loss for words at what her eyes were feeding her mind. Then in a flash of light and energy that the people down on the planet below them had no idea about, the small craft was gone again in an odd blurring action. It was like the craft had never been there, and it had all been a dream or maybe a hallucination.

Henna was thinking about all of the books that would be written with her name on it. This was so much better than having just a library named after her. She was flushed, not because of the event, but because now no matter what happened next, she was guaranteed reelection. It did not matter any more what she did or did not do for the next few years. After all, who could top making first contact with aliens? She did not notice, but a purely evil grin crept on to her face while she watched the screen. Not only was she the first woman elected to this office, she was also the person to bring the whole world to the greater universe.

The General had been in more combat than most, and his mind was running at ninety miles an hour even though he was sitting still. "They are smart to want to make sure this was done at a distance." He looked over at the NASA guy who was now back to sitting down next to the Vice President. His jaw swinging in the wind like an idiot.

"Do you have a size estimate on that thing? Can you roll it back to a still frame? It looked like they overflew Aristarchus. She's about twenty-five miles wide. We can use that as a reference point to get an idea of size and speed?" The General was now on a roll. He wanted information and he was not scared to ask.

POTUS did not like that the military person had taken over one of her meetings. She thought they would have been put in their place between her and the last two term President who had also also been from her party. It was only with grudging respect that a part of her mind acknowledged that he seemed to be the only one with a working brain in this room. It was just too bad that it was only a small part of her brain that would allow for this revelation.

"Why do you say that? And yes, I would like to have a better look at this alien craft while we are at it."

The tone coming out of Henna was condescending, and everyone in the room knew it. Except the target did not care in the least about the tone that was directed at him. It was like water off a duck to him. He had a job to do, and it did not matter who was in the seat at the time.

When the image came back on to the screen, the live feed from NASA headquarters was already off. Even then the two way speaker mounted on the desk must have carried her command through to the other speaker in Texas. The full screen was taken up by one little fussy image. POTUS looked at the officer, and tilted her head to one side.

"So what are we looking at?"

The General raised an eyebrow. He was surprised that she was asking him the question instead of the head of the agency that was providing the data. He waited for maybe a heartbeat before replying to his commander. He did make sure to use the right tone with her. He knew the wrong one would shut her down mentally to anything else he might have to say.

"Ma'am, I'm not that versed in alien spaceship design, but it has a pair of wings."

The POTUS felt her blood pressure rise. "So?" She had no idea why something like that was important. She felt that he was treating her like a child or somehow treating her without the respect she thought she deserved.

With the same look, down to the millimeter, the officer told her why he thought what he said was important. "Ma'am, as far as I know, you don't need wings to fly in space. There's no air or wind for those devices to provide lift to the craft. They just add a lot of surface area to protect, like we learned with the Space Shuttle. That craft? She can land on a planet's surface. I would bet they can put that thing down at Edwards. That is, if they wanted to."

When the military man stopped talking, Henna waited without saying a word. When he did not resume fast enough, she let a one word demand fall into the air of the small, but secure room. "More!"

The Army General had to force himself to turn from the huge screen at the front of the room, and the image that it was still holding. "Madam President, I have no idea. I did not even know what we were going to be waiting to see before I entered this room today. I have no frame of reference to review before now, so it's all a 'SWAG' right now." As he spoke the General tapped the table top after every few words.

The General had wanted some way to let her know that the way she had managed this little issue had an effect on how he could answer her question. He just needed a way to do it without setting her off like a hog with a tooth ache. That was a very fine tight rope to walk without hanging himself with that same rope.

"Now, that does make you wonder. Why did they send such a small craft to be the ice breaker?" The General caught something out of the corner of his eye as the video feed went to loop the short video clip over and over again.

"Would you look at that? Check out the one end. It reflects some. I bet it's the cockpit for the craft."

"How many people do you think it can hold General?" This had come from the current Secretary of State.

The General just shook his head left and right, and this time he could not keep his tone in the same monotone he had been using so far throughout this meeting. "How would l know that? How big do you think they are, NASA? And how big is the craft? I could be wrong about everything. I just liked reading sci-fi when I was a kid. They could be eight feet tall or three feet tall and eight feet around. All of that would affect how much anything of theirs can carry."

The NASA Administer picked up the phone on the table at the first ring, then quickly hung it back up. He had been thankful for the phone to ring, because he had no clue how to answer the few questions that had been asked already. They were all about space related equipment, and that should fall under the purview of NASA. He knew that if he did not come up with something quick, he might be out of a job, and at this level, he would be looking at some college gig to try to pay his bills. The phone ringing within arms' reach was the perfect way to buy him some time. As it turned out, it was for him. More to the point, it was from some of his people.

"That was the team down in Houston. They have a rough estimate on the size of the craft we just saw but they did not want to put it out in the main room. I have to tell you all now that this is very rough and that they need more time to get anything close to accurate information."

He could see the POTUS star to say something, so he stopped doing what people call the DC two step as soon as he could take another breath. "They think it might be eight meters by five meters, give or take. They are going to let the computers work on the images some more but those are the numbers they are working with right now."

Now the head of NASA got a sour look on his face that would not have been there if he had not been knocked so far off of his game. "And the General was right. They overflew the center of Aristarchus."

Now the head of NASA was looking from the President to look over at the military man. "How did you know that?" He knew that there were a few million craters of various sizes on the moon.

The Four Star General just shrugged his shoulders and did not reply to the NASA administrator. The representative for the Joint Chief of Staff had been Special Forces until he was too old to do the job with the young kids anymore. He had been in everything from cold hell to hot hell for many long years. He had served those who had sat in that chair at the head of the table before. One of the skills he had picked up doing that job was how to navigate using only the stars over his head. That had turned into studying the heavens as a hobby. His youngest now worked of NASA, under his mother's maiden name. And all of the kids and grandkids loved coming to grandpa's house, if only to use his backyard telescope that he had spent way too much money on over the years.

The General saw an opening to get the focus off him. "So does NASA have any idea how it works?" He knew what 'it' he was referring to, but he was betting that this overpaid man with too many degrees that he had never used, might not connect the dots.

The man from NASA started to do the fish gasping for air thing again, as he was put on the spot so effectively that he could not shift it away without saying something. "How could I know anything like that? Not off some grainy image? I need time, and instruments, and data, and money." He had add the last item out of habit.

He was tap dancing his toes off, and he knew it down to his very core. The bad part was that he knew that everyone in this room knew the same thing. He could think of only one more thing to say.

"There was that energy spike of some kind, when it showed up. And again when it disappeared. It must be some kind of drive?" The last sounded more like a question to his own ears.

The General nodded his head again, this time in understanding, but he was not looking at anyone in the room directly. The tactical planner part of his brain was kicking into high gear, as he worked the problem that he had been thrown.

"Smart, wonder what would have happened if they had popped in close to the ISS with that kind of energy spike?" He made a note to see if the still under construction Russian MIR 2 or the Chinese Tiangong 3 space station were manned during this little event.

The POTUS could tell that she could not add anything to what had been said but she felt the need to say something. It was just too overwhelming for her to ignore any longer. "That is something to think about. NASA is the lead on this, but keep the DOD in the loop. And I want DOD to do the same with NASA. I want a daily briefing on what the hell it is. Now, if you will excuse me. I happen to know that I'm going to be getting a call soon. Good day, everyone."

The POTUS rose and left the room without returning any of the signs of respect she was given. She did not wait for the rest of the people to rise before turning and leaving with the Secretary General of the United Nation only a half-step behind her. He had been too stunned to say a word during the whole event that had just played out before him. That did not mean that he did not remember every word that had been said, even if it had all been said in a language that he had not been born to. He had been surprised how fast some in that room had been able to react to the change that had just struck their world.

* * *

The phone meeting happened at the agreed upon time right down to the second, and it turned out to be just as useless as Henna had feared it would be when the words first left her mouth to suggest it. The only thing that the leaders could agree on was that they needed to keep it quiet for as long as they could. Henna gave it two weeks, tops, before someone in the press - and it did not have to be the mainstream press anymore - broke the story to the world. She had her money on it leaking from NASA's Houston office first. As it turned out she would have been wrong, and would have lost whatever money she would have placed on that wager.

Two days later Henna Clay was in another meeting when her phone on the old desk rang again. After the first time that her phone rang on its own, someone was now always near it every minute of every day and night. Work was being done to add a special line at the White House switchboard to help with this task after hours, at least.

That did not mean that it was always the President who was doing the phone watching. She had no idea or way of knowing that the people who had hacked the phone system could have also just have used the portable electronic device that she always kept in her coat pocket. The reason they had not done so in the first place was simply that Kathy liked playing games with people when her job allowed her to do so. Sometimes you just cannot take the Cylon out of the human. Or was it that you could not take the human, out of the human form Cylon? Either way it did not matter. The Admiral had approved this as the primary way to contact the locals for now.

The phone watcher was someone from Secret Service this time. Still, she was very shocked when she picked up the phone when the red light glowed and someone was there. They had done a spot check every shift to check both the phone system and the people on duty. This one was not a spot check. At least, not from her boss in the United States Secret Service.

A sweet, but older voice was on the line. The voice and tone on the other end reminded the agent of one her old high school teachers had used on her back home. "Agent White, would you please let your boss know that the Sea of Storms people are on the line and are waiting for her, but we will not wait for long."

The Agent held out the phone, her face having lost all color. "Madam President, they're back." This simple statement was all the agent could say. She would think on it ten times afterwards and all ten times she would conclude that she had no training in this type of situation. Could she take a bullet? Yep, and twice on Sunday. Taking a phone call from aliens? Not some much.

Henna Clay took a breath, then put the phone to her ear. She tried to make her voice sound both non-threatening and forceful at the same time. She thought that she did a good job of what she was trying to do. Except she never had been be able to pull it off before and no one had ever told her that she had never been able to pull it off. She did not take criticism well, and had not been able to do that for a few decades. She was pleased at the sound of her own voice as she spoke into the old style desk phone.

"I'm glad to hear from you again. I must congratulate you on your command of our communication systems. We would like to meet and find out more about you and your advanced culture."

Her tone was wooden as she delivered the prepared and overly rehearsed statement put together by her staff. It had been done only a few hours after the little show proved that this was not some kind of joke.

The voice on the other sounded light. "That is good to hear. We are glad that our showing up out of the black and without any warning did not send you into some form of shock. We would like to set up what you call a video teleconference with you and the other leaders we contacted. That is so that we can say hi to everyone. This meeting will also be with the core leadership of our group. We have some options we would like to put forward to facilitate this next step in our meetings. We want this contact to be a partnership. Would you like to join?"

Henna's mind was going at the speed of light. It was only now that her mind told her that the being on the other end of this line sounded female to her. Or at least, whatever it was speaking through gave the voice a very female sound.

"Yes, we would. I think that I know the best place to host an event with implications of this magnitude. "

She was again thinking about history books and the speech deals that would rain down on her afterwards. She was fighting to keep her grip on things when she remembered that they had said that they had options. They were not going to be lead around by the nose. They had something up their sleeves, she could feel it.

"What options did you have in mind?"

The voice on the phone gave a soft laugh. "We need to be in one of our larger ships to do this type of thing."

Three other people in the room had put earbuds in their ears almost before Henna had put the phone to her ear. It was so that they could hear what was going on between the POTUS and whoever was on the other end of the conversation. They could not speak into the line, but they could still make their opinions noted in other ways. Now each of the three had deep scowls on their faces. It matched hers but she did not want to be the one blamed. That is, if the talks did not happen between them and the first aliens that the human race had ever meet.

"How big a ship are we talking about?" Henna was having a flashback of a movie from her young days about a ship the size of a planet or something like it and killing a lot of people.

The oldish sounding female voice without an accent had paused just to let them get a question in. "She is the oldest warship that we have, but she is still a warship. Option one is that we jump into orbit over your planet with her. From your point of view, it would just appear in a flash of light. This is not one we would recommend. We could jump into the orbit of your moon, but again, it's a warship we are talking about. You have no idea of what her capabilities might be. What our Fleet Commander wants to do is come into your star system around the orbital line of the planet you call Jupiter."

* * *

Laura Roslin stopped talking for a few seconds and wished she could put her feet up. Unfortunately, in a Raptor it was just not possible. She did not want to overwhelm them with everything that was being thrown at them. She knew that if the shoe was on the other foot and it had been back in Colonial space, she would have been about to lose her mind. When she thought that she had waited long enough according to her own internal clock, she started talking again.

"From there, he could plot a course to a point halfway between the orbital paths of the planets that you call Mars and Earth. This location will cause a time lag in our meeting of six minutes going each way. What would you want to do? How would you like to handle the first meeting between our people?"

None of that was true. Roslin was sitting in a Raptor right that second, on the day-night terminus of the moon. She just needed a reason to get more spaceships in this system as fast as she could and she had to do all of that without causing a war or poisoning the well with the people on this planet. The faster they could do this, the faster they could start working together, the faster her people could rebuild, and the faster these people would be in a better position to defend themselves against the Cylons. Or any other threat that the Rifts people could talk about for hours on end.

Henna cleared her throat, and it was not quiet. "I think, that I like the last option as the best. It will be the easiest to sell to the others and it will cause the least number of heart attacks over here. I'm sure we can work through any issues."

Laura could not help but smile as she pictured what the faces must have looked like at the other end of the communication line. "It's the safest, but we wanted you to have options to choose from. We chose you to make the decisions, because of the respect that your military has around your world." Laura took another pause.

"Even coming in from that far out, it will be impossible to hide the event from you planet as a whole. We know that you have been trying to keep the information about us quiet. Away from anyone outside of a very small group based around a core of people we've already contacted. This won't last for much longer. Someone on your White House staff is about to do something. I think your term is, 'let the cat out of the bag,' and it will not be long from now."

Laura was hiding a smile as she sat in the Raptor looking around at the rest of the people in the craft. They all had a few side bets on how the person on the other line was going to react to finding out about that information. The Colonials had a very detailed file on a lot of the key leaders and power players on this planet already.

* * *

Henna was now full on pissed. She expected total loyalty from everyone near her and even those who were not near her. To learn that these aliens, that had no faces yet, knew that one of her people was going to stab her in the back? She would find out who it was, and there would be hell to pay. She had to take a few deep breaths before she could get back to business. The people listening in on the line with Henna made sure to not be looking at her for the next few seconds. She had vented on more than one person who just happened to make eye contact with her at the wrong time.

"When will we be having this meeting?" The voice was Henna's, but she did not remembering saying those words later. She was too busy thinking about someone betraying her and how she was going to make them pay for it. This was not the first time something like this had happened. She had hoped that people would have learned better by now.

"We would like to come into your system in seventy-two hours from the time we started this conversation." This was the swift reply, minus a slight delay of almost three seconds, that Henna had already grown used to without noticing having to do so.

Henna was stunned at what she heard. She knew that it normally took weeks, if not months to get everything worked out for a meeting that was not even at this high of a level. To make all the right arrangements that quick, it was going to take some special skills and even more people added to the list of those who knew what was going on.

"I had better get my people going, then. We look forward to seeing and talking with your people." Henna had a little speech she was about to start when she caught the tone of a disconnected line. All she could do was pull the phone from her ear, and look at it like it was a snake or that it had just farted in her face.

Henna was not used to someone else being in control, not even her husband. She looked at the phone, and almost crossed her eyes. While she was finishing up on the phone, the head of the NSA was waiting to jump. By now, he had learned that he needed a visual cue before he did anything like speak towards her. When the phone went down towards the desk, he took his chance. He was taking turns looking at the POTUS and the digital note book in his hands. He had a quick mind but this was too much for him to memorize in just a few seconds.

"They are using two different civilian communication satellites to bounce signals off of, but we think that they have something in orbit close in to the moon. Maybe they were near the South Pole of the moon, or close to it. If we had just a little more time, we could have gotten a better fix on where the transmission was coming from. We will need to task a few more observatories. If they have used one area, they might use it again." He was thinking about the note in a briefing. It had said that they had a 'scout' and that it was spying on them. After all it was something the US intelligence agencies would and did do on this planet.

Henna looked over at her Chief of Staff, the most read in of anyone in the room but her. When she made eye contact she gave a little nod. "Let the others know that our friends want to have a meeting. And shoot them a copy of the transcripts from today."

She looked over to the person to the right of her current Chief of Staff and then back to her Chief of Staff. "Is the announcement speech ready? We have a little less than seventy-two hours before the world finds out and they do not seem to care." She was pointing at the phone she had just handed off to the Secret Service woman like she was a common secretary and not a very highly trained agent.

The Chief of Staff was writing like a mad man, and took a handful of seconds before he replied. "Yes ma'am, it is. A copy is in your inbox."

When he looked back down at his device, he mumbled under his breath. "I guess they learned something after Roswell." He did not realized quite how loudly he had said those thoughts aloud.

Henna did not see the looks or rolled eyes that some in the room just gave her Chief of Staff. "Good. Contact the networks. I want some time tonight, say 9 pm Eastern. Oh, and find out who they were talking about on my staff. I want them gone as soon as you find them out. We will have someone box their things for them after they have been thrown out on their ear. Just get them out of here and tell them that their personnel affects will be at the back curb for them to pick up later. I also want a full cabinet meeting with all of the Joint Chiefs, and all of the intelligence agencies at 5 pm today. Make it happen." That was her last words as the rest of the people started scattering like ants avoiding a boot coming down on them.

The office knew from experience that this last command was their dismissal. They filed out of the famous office to be about the tasks that had been given out by her. They knew how to get the ball rolling and they had enough sense and experience to know where the landmines were. Deep down, each of them knew that if something happened, their boss would have no problems throwing them under the collective bus if she needed to. Something like that just came with the jobs at this level. You might think you were a rook or a knight, but you were only a pawn.

* * *

Kathy, Laura, and the rest of the passengers watched on their Raptor carried systems as the messages they had started went racing around the globe at just below the speed of light. They all were hoping that things were going to go half as good as it looked to be wanting to break at this time.

Laura was just a little let down when she was told what time this Henna person had planned for giving out the announcement to the world. She had to get back to her real job and could not wait that long. The next Raptor would record the data and get it back to the fleet. From now on, a Raptor would always be in this system until after the flagship left to rejoin the fleet in Tau Ceti. It was going to act as both a scout and a tripwire in case things when horribly wrong.

When all of the networks were notified of the President's speech, things started to get stressed for some people around the White House. Soon afterwards that stress spread around to the other world leaders' staffs. It had been decades since the last US President had given a speech without a pre-released copy being given to the press or to other powerful members of the Hill.

Hours had been spent on speculating in those news services about what the leader might want to talk to the nation and to the world about. One set of news networks was saying that she was going to be talking about immigration or a new federal gun control measure. Another type of news station was saying that she was going to talk about the lost thirty thousand emails that had resurfaced from unknown sources.

Before the press conference started, Henna was already sitting at 'The Desk' and everyone else was forced to stand and either listen, or present information to the rest of the group. The CIA briefer, who was also a political appointee by her, was waxing on and on about how there was not any concrete information for them to review. This fact alone was enough to let the people in their agency believe that this was a not a threat. He was well down the list of powerful people who thought that a spacefaring race must have outgrown fighting to survive on their home world.

The Director of the DIA was a different fish altogether. She had over twenty-five years in the military intelligence part of the Army. She also had been in every hot spot around the globe over the course of a career spanning two and a half decades. She had been to college during that time also, and now had a PhD and two Master's Degrees that had been paid for by Uncle Sam and her. She had seen the elephant, as the saying goes, and had gotten the t-shirts. She also had a habit, which was sometimes good, sometimes bad, and sometimes going all the way up to very bad. She quite simply did not suffer fools. They had given her one too many scars, some of them not on her body.

Before she could stop herself, she was no longer keeping her thoughts to herself. They were out of her mouth before her brain filter could stop it from happening. "What? Did your mother drop you on your head as baby?"

As soon as it was out of her mouth, she knew it was too late. _Well that's going to be a career killer,_ she thought to herself.

She was a little lucky that what she had said was low enough that the head of the CIA did not realize what she had said. He only knew that she had said something while he had been talking to the whole group. He turned to look at the woman, and pitched his voice to carry clearly around the room but his tone was not the best.

"Did you have something to add to my briefing?"

He, like his boss, did not like working with the military. He looked down on them as barely evolved apes, if he took the time to think about them at all. Even the ones that tried to do intel work, like he did, he rarely read their reports. After all, they had not been able to get into any real schools of higher learning. If you could not get into the Ivy League schools, then you must have a family tree that was a more like a stalk of bamboo than a real tree. This was a very common outlook given the leaders of this intelligence agency.

 _Well you peacock. You asked for it._ She had what most people would have called a super quick mind, and one that had a very sharp wit. "Yes I did. I wanted to know what ivory tower you have been hiding your head under."

The head of the CIA could not believe what she had just said to him, the head of the CIA of all people. Who was she to do that to him? He was an Ivy League graduate. He knew that she had done most of her higher education with online courses of all things. How dare she mouth off to him? He had quickly talked himself into believing that he must have misheard what she had said. He decided to offer up the chance for some clarification.

"What did you say?" The tone was one hundred percent disbelief.

 _It's time to roll, before he gets his feet under him,_ and with a sly smile she fired away at the strutting peacock.

"You said these people are not a threat. All because they are a spacefaring race? One that can move between the stars at superlight speed. Have you really thought about something? They hacked into not only the President's private phone, but also into that of four other major government leaders on the planet. And they can do this so well that we don't know how they do it. They speak English, and they even know some of our history. That tells DIA that they have been watching us for some unknown amount of time. How closely, by what means, and for how long have they been doing this? That is the driving question."

She took a breath and noticed that everyone was looking at her from around the table and the whole room in general. "And the last thing of note to think about? If you read the latest transcript, she said the ship that was coming to see us was a warship. You don't use that term unless you need to. They had to have looked up that word to use it in our language. What do you think might happen if they take out Fort Hood or something like that with this warship they are talking about bringing? Now to rain on your little idea about evolution on this planet... The whole list of smartest animals on this planet? They are all predators. Predators are always predators. No matter how you try to pull their teeth with mental gymnastics. They can fight, and they will still kill."

Henna was listening to what was being said. If this tirade had been coming from one of the male military officers, she would have just chocked it to male military bravado and penis measuring or chest beating. She knew that the head of DIA was wrong, but what if she was right? Could she afford to be wrong, or did she need to find a way to cover her butt?

"Okay, SecDef. I'm going to let the world know about aliens in thirty minutes and a few seconds. Go to Forcecom A-minus now. You can raise it higher but we only have twenty-four hours before this warship of theirs shows up. How long would it take you to shift units around, get them away from their home bases? Now I don't want a panic, first and foremost, so you can also have the National Guard ready. Maybe you can call it an increased readiness exercise. I will call it as a just in case some gunlovers decide to take advantage of the situation or something like that. I'm not going to call Martial Law, but all of your people need to be ready if I call for them."

The Chief of Staff tapped the portable electronic device on his lap and a beeping sound came from the POTUS's smart phone. This was the signal that she needed to leave now. She need the time so that she could get a final makeup touch up before going on what was going to end up being as close to worldwide TV as you could get in this day and age. She nodded to her Chief of Staff and dismissed the meeting with a wave of her hands.

Thirty-four minutes later Henna Clay was walking down a hallway to the wooden podium at its end. She could have used the Oval Office, but that had not polled well the last time she had done that. Every item from her shoes, to her hair style had been polled and modified, and then re-polled. All so that she could get the best polling numbers for her. She would buck the polls sometimes, but for the majority of occasions, she needed them too badly to not listen to them.

She was not exactly known for her likability to the average person in the United States. So when she needed every point for some reason, she let the polls drive how things went. No matter how much it made her grind her teeth to do so. She had to put all of those thoughts into a small metal box, as she made the final few paces. She needed to have her game face on with as few mental distractions as possible.

The room in front of the podium was filled to overflowing, and in her mind's eye, she knew that she was about to blow the socks off of every one in that room, along with everyone else who was going to see her. Henna took her position and looked around carefully to make sure that just the right amount eye contact was given to each group in the room. Then she looked forward, towards the camera and the teleprompter that would display what she was about to say. The woman to the left of the camera held up two fingers, then dropped one of them. When the red light at the top of the camera started to glow, it was game time for the first female President of the United States to do her job.

"My fellow Americans and the rest of the world, I have both great and grave news to talk about tonight. A few days ago, I and a handful of other world leaders were contacted at the same time to let us know that we were not alone in the universe."

She stopped talking and let that bit of a bombshell sink in. If the reaction coming from this room was a reflection of what was coming from the rest of the country, then every eye was now watching her and following her every eye blink. She reveled in the power she felt this gave her. This was power, the truest power known to man. This was the power she had always craved, going all the way back to the Nixon impeachment case. She had worked on that case so many years ago, but she still remembered the taste of power she had been able to glimpse. Her Chief of Staff started tapping his watch as a signal. It said that she needed to keep going and not to let the pause of dead air last too long.

She gave a smile towards the camera. She knew that it would be noticed by her core voter groups. "At first, I was thinking that someone was playing some kind of joke on me, but we were told when and where one of their small scout craft would be. It was to prove to us that it was not a joke. Now, to stop any rumors about flying saucers, it was over an area of the day side of the moon. NASA will be posting the images on their website soon after this speech. We were contacted again after we must have passed some kind of test. This is because now, they want to have a type of video call between them, and the people they had contacted before. To do this, they will be bringing a larger ship into our solar system to help with the technical problems as well as support their ambassadors."

She stopped talking for just a few seconds. She was not ever going to say that these aliens were going to be on a warship. She knew that words like that would not go over well, and there were going to be at least a few percentage points of the people watching that could catch a word like warship.

"I want to let everyone know that we have not seen who these visitors are, yet. We have only communicated via radio, so far. The first time that we will be able to see what they look like will be in less than three days from today. I have directed all of the State National Guard units to be activated under federal administration. They will be in support of local law enforcement and not our military. I want everyone to know that lawlessness will not be tolerated. We have not been threatened in any way by these visitors and I do not expect our people to try to do things that they normally would not think about trying to do. This is a great new chapter in human history. One that will highlight how we act now that we have found life away from our world. I'm asking everyone in the world to not mar that history with acts of violence to advance their own agenda."

Henna was very well known for not given short speeches. She in fact had been well known for speaking for hours, all about nothing. It was the same today, as she talked for almost two hours from start to finish. The time blocked out by all of the networks had been for one hour, but no one had dared to stop the telecast. The only downside was that she did not take any questions from the group of reports at her feet. By the time that she had finished her speech, they had both gotten their mental feet under them again and had been able to get questions sent to them by their prospective supervisors, in most cases in a different city than the one the President was speaking in.

Instead of taking questions, Henna turned to walk back towards her office once her speech was over. She had not even gotten all the way down the red carpeted hall before the talking heads on the news networks and global information grids were going into overdrive. Most of the coverage was in disbelief, but as more and more information was found, and more speeches from the other contacted leaders hit the networks and web, more people came to believe that it was true after all. Even with the late hour of the speech, very few people would be going to sleep during this twenty-four hour news cycle.

Two hours later, the heavily computer processed images of what later would be identified as a Colonial Raptor was posted by NASA on their web page. Their computer servers almost crashed from the number of people trying to view the images at the same time. It did not take long for those images to be posted in more and more places. This lowered the stress that the NASA servers were under from the billions of page hits. In a matter of an hour after the images were posted on the first server, it would be the most shared images in the history of the news business.

A dozen hours after the worldwide announcement, the list of people, groups, or countries that were asking, and in some cases demanding, that they should be at the first meeting was growing like a wild fire before hurricane force winds. With the speeches coming in so late in the evening or early morning in some parts of the world, there was very little unrest worldwide right after the information was released. Slowly however, it was building up. As time passed, more and more demonstrations started popping up around the world with the rising sun. What was called the First World had the least amount of issues in the following days. That did not mean that they had none, only that there were few of them. They also were less damaging on average compared to those in the rest of the world.

The US did not have any major issues. However, not even with the help of the manpower provided by the National Guard could local law enforcement quickly take down anyone that tried to cause violence. There also was a massive increase in the number of people calling in sick over the next few days. Suicides or attempted suicides went up a little over ten percent and local and online stores noticed an uptick in the sales certain items. Ones that that normally only moved right before a major storm system hit. It was just that instead of one area noticing these things moving, it was the whole country. A high percentage of the population was getting prepared or maybe just a little better prepared for a worst case scenario coming along in the next couple of days.

* * *

Kathy had to ask for help after the last shift that she pulled in orbit near Luna. She also suggested that they needed to have two people on shift at all times. She had no idea how much message traffic would be caused by those few and for the most part short speeches. She had done a full report to the command staff, and went straight to bed with a massive head ache.

Boxey was with her when they returned to the spot near the massive moon that this planet had. They spent two long twelve hour shifts trying to keep an eye out for any threats which might pop up now that this world knew they were not alone. They passed along to the flagship information about the militaries of several countries going on higher alert and that some military units were shifting out of their home bases to different areas. It was noted that most of these areas newly occupied by military units were away from any cities.

They also passed along a growing list of groups who might make trouble for the Colonials later. That would be after they set up a new home on the islands, though. It was looking like Captain Kelly had been right about the locations to avoid on this world. Most the areas that he had noted as unstable were the areas that were getting more unstable by the newly released news about first contact.

When the right time arrived every telescope on earth or above it was turned to a section of space out around the gas giant called Jupiter. Most people on the planet were glued to the outputs coming from these devices. The coordinates had been published hours after the speeches had started and with this released information came the single largest move of telescopes in the history of retail.

Every school that had an astronomy class or department had started giving extra courses on how to use those newly purchased or dusted off devices. Most only charged a little for these classes, but some places were charging a lot for this instruction. Local 'How To' guides on how to make radio and homemade optical telescopes were being sold and downloaded so fast that more than one hosting server had crashed from the stress the overloaded networks were put under.

NASA and ESA were working hand in hand again after another major break between those two space agencies. They were the only groups that could put any differences aside and work productively together on such short notice. The Administrator of NASA was in the heart of the Houston space facility to make sure that the NASA channel camera was focused on him a whole hour before the time that the alien ship was to arrive. He wanted the world to know who he was. He had plans to use this exposure to further his career, like, maybe into elective office. He was planning ahead and they were grand dreams.

Every system that could work was working. The Goldstone downlink facilities and even the Alice Spring site, all were at maximum bandwidth and data collection on one spot in space. It was going to wear out 'his' systems faster, but he did not have any choice. He was already working on a cost report for this task, and what it would take to replace any extra attrition damage incurred while supporting this White House tasking. He was also working on a plan to cover their replacement in a way that would also increase their capabilities. The numbers for these repairs and replacements were already padded by about forty percent in cost. He was looking forward to a groundswell of support and publicity to push for a larger NASA. In the last few days, he had a dozen different new projects that he was getting ready to leak out to the press. Projects that a senior official in NASA was looking at for future missions.

The head of NASA was getting nervous and it quickly went to very nervous as the time slowly passed by. It did not help to know that not only was the President of the United States watching him while on live TV, but on her published orders this was also now being televised live to whoever wanted to see it. As the administrative head of NASA, he was hoping that not only would it help with funding, but it would also increase the interest of people in schools around the world. He had wanted to do a delayed transmission, and hire a person to be the face for the event at the last minute. Both of those ideas had been dismissed by his boss, the Vice President. The closer the time got, the more he was thinking that maybe public office was not a good fit for him after all.

Right now, he was kicking himself, along with the last two directors of NASA, for focusing most of the effort, brain power, and money on only launching Earth observing satellites. The idea was that they were to help study Global Warming. It had not mattered that something like that fit under NOAA's mission provile better than NASA's. The funding for those missions had all come at the expense of systems and equipment that could have been used to study the rest of the universe or, closer to home, the nearby planets. At the time, that had seemed like a good idea. After all, that issue had been what was in the press every few days, and it had helped keep NASA in the news connected with that idea.

The head of NASA was already into re-saying his intro for the second time into the camera when one of the scientists nearby dropped a heavy metal pen. It had been one that he had been nervously chewing on until something happened on his monitor. It had been one thing to be told about what was about to happen, and another totally different thing to actually see it happen. The little visit by the scout had been so quick that very little data had been collected on the event. That was not going to be the case today. It took him a whole four seconds to process what he was seeing and then to announce it to the rest of the room.

"Energy spike in the center of the target area. We are getting readings on Gamma and Tachyon wave lengths. Good god, it's huge!" After a little bit of a pause, someone one else jumped in.

"Sensors overloaded and shut down. It was an automatic setting to protect themselves from burning out!"

The head of NASA had stopped talking to the camera as the new voices were shouted across the room. All across the room visible from his location, heads and a few bodies were conspicuously popping up. As the first two reports were finishing up, a third one came over the speakers mounted in the modern style ceiling.

"We have a visible light event in target area! It matches up with the moon event, but a hell of a lot bigger!" Using profane language in the office was frowned upon, but sometimes it got the urgency across and was just the thing needed to get someone's attention. Kind of like today.

The head of NASA overrode the head of the facility. It was bad protocol, but he also had a boss that he reported to. His voice boomed out the room and into each headset. It also was transmitted to the world in general.

"Give me an image!" It was not much of an order, and it did not have his name tagged to it when it had been given, like the normal protocol had demanded.

The order went out, and every optical telescope now had a better idea of where to look in the larger target area. The area they had been looking at was 'only' about a hundred times the size of the Earth. Not that it helped that much, even with the flash to guide them. The dark ship was hard to see with the technology available to the people of Earth at this time. It was only when the alien ship moved in front of the massive star did the ship become visible to the systems looking for it. This movement took a whole four minutes to happen after the first flash of energy. Minutes that caused a lot of people concern and stress.

The image was only an unclear blur on one of the huge wall mounted monitors when it was finally able to be projected on the massive screen. That one monitor that made up one whole wall of this command center. An unnamed voice carried, and not one person objected to the second break in protocol. Most of the people in this room were too stunned to say or do much.

"Good god it's huge! It's got to be a kilometer long!"

At a different station in the room, someone activated her mic. She was not about to shout over the growing noise level in the massive room. Besides she understood the protocol. "The object is backlit. I have a Doppler shift, and it's growing. It must have fired off its engines. Object is in transit, anyone have a Delta-v on the object?"

"Get me some hard data, people. Get a copy of the energy spike data and pass to offsite facilities. Use it to search against all databases. Let's see what comes up with anything."

That was from Karen, the head of the facility, and holder of more PhD's than any three people in this room combined. Some might have thought that she had gotten this job because of her sex. Crap like that had stopped for the most part after anyone had their first meeting with her. Not only that, people just generally liked her.

"Doppler still shifting. The Delta-v is increasing. What are they using for fuel?" It was again quiet when the person monitoring the Delta-v or the stranger's change in velocity shouted out again to the room. She had to pitch her voice to carry to the back wall and the camera and mic mounted there.

"Good God! At this speed it will cross the Martian orbit line in two hours. Speed is estimated at two AU an hour, and it seems to still be accelerating! I need confirmations! ESA are you getting any tracking data? Can you forward the raw take to our systems?"

A different voice came over the intercom the strain in the voice was audible. It sounded like whoever was speaking wanted to jump up and down but was holding it together, for now. "Update on ship's length. It is around one-point-five Kilometers long. This is the best estimate at this time. We will need them to stop moving to get a better read on the data. They are moving too fast for Mount Graham to keep tracking them in any detail. Has anyone been able to get a guess on the mass yet?"

The stress that everyone in Houston was feeling was rapidly spreading to the few billion people on the planet's surface. The three people in the ISS in orbit around the blue planet had already been notified to be ready to leave the only manned station in orbit on short notice after the President's speech. The people on the ground kept a very close eye on their bio-readouts as their blood pressures and other readings started to climb. That bit of information would not be released until almost a decade later. It would mentioned in a story released for the 10th Anniversary of the Colonials making contact with the home planet.

More riots broke out globally. A thousand people died in the violence within an hour of word spreading that the visiting ship had been spotted by people on the ground. The death toll would climb as the days went on due to the riots and self-inflicted wounds. Where some people saw light, other saw darkness, and too much of either could be too much to handle for some.

* * *

Meanwhile back in the deep black of space, the feeling going through the flagship of the Colonial Fleet was a lot calmer than what was going through the blue ball in front of them. After so many years of traveling throughout two full arms of this galaxy, the great battlestar had just completed another jump and nothing more. Well, that was what all members of the crew were telling themselves as they felt the jump end. Some might have even believed it for half a minute, but most did not. They were about to be part of making contact with a human group. It was for only the second time in the entirety of Colonial history and it was the second time for the crew on this ship and crew to deal with this type of event as well.

Felix checked his systems and nodded to the XO of the great of warship. Saul turned to his boss and oldest friend to pass along the nonverbal communication in a more verbal form. "Bill, the ship has completed the jump." He did not have to prod his friend on what to do next. This was only the second time the ship had jumped into a system that had people other than Colonials living on it. More to the point, they were armed.

Bill did not look up from the plotting table that was the center of the CIC. He was the picture of calm boredom in a sea of movement. Even when he spoke, it was with a calm and level tone. "Set course as we discussed. Hold in the CAP for now. We don't want the locals getting upset too quickly and then have someone push the wrong button down there. Keep our thrust to about one tenth power. The Restricted Fuel Conservation Rules are enforced. We don't need to waste any that we don't have to." Every word Bill had said, had been trained into the staff for weeks now. Still, not launching a cover CAP of Vipers was not normal for a battlestar.

Saul nodded to his commander and went about the tasks he had been given. The great old battlestar shifted as the information was put into her systems from a dozen different hands. This was the movement that gave the people on the blue planet's surface their first glimpse of the old but massive Colonial warship. The ship moved very slowly as she made her way deeper into the Sol system for the first time. That is, until it reached the point in the cold black of space that Adama had wanted.

Bill had picked a point in space where the time delay of speed of light communication would be limited to 'only' four minutes going each way. It was going to be a slow and boring ride in. There was very little threat. The people in this system could not reach even this far out, at least not without taking months if not years for their small objects to make it. They only had to worry about the natural hazards of rocks and ice found in any star system. That did not mean that the crew was not being diligent while they were going about their tasks.

Bill Adama was not in the CIC when they came to the point in space they had picked to stop at. He was with Laura in the main briefing room, which had been set up for this special meeting between two very different groups of humans. They were going over a few different plans and counter plans. Some were for today, and others were for how things might break in the near to far future between the two groups.

* * *

The world leaders that had been contacted before by the Colonials were now sitting in what had been until today the Press Conference room of the White House. The original plan had been to have this meeting in a more secure but much smaller room but a very loud public outcry had prevented that from happening. A meeting room in the New York City UN building had been suggested but then it was found out that they did not have the infrastructure, much less the security to protect the meeting. The last thing any of these leaders had wanted, and that included the Secretary General, was to have an unwanted blowhard storm into the meeting room at the wrong time.

After a long series of verbal back and forth between many groups, the plans were finalized. It was worked out that the teleconference would be on delayed broadcast to the rest of the world. Only the people in the room would be able to communicate with the aliens directly and in real time. They had been the ones that the aliens had contacted first, after all. Henna's staff looked at the deal as a political item.

They felt that in politics, a deal was one where everyone felt like they had been screwed over, and the other side looked to have been given a good deal. The room had been modified, so now it was glassed off and soundproofed at one end. A legal challenge was working its way through the US court system, but her predecessor had set the precedent for something like this.

Besides, most thought the challenge did not have a leg to stand on. It was not even going to be seen by a major court before the time the meeting was set for. It was not like the courts could order aliens not to have a meeting they had traveled through the stars to have in the first place.

The room had been filled with leaders of the contacted parties for some time. Normally they would have waited until closer to the appointed time to show up to a meeting, but not this time. They all were watching the events unfold in real time, just like the rest of the world. It was just that the leaders got to do the same thing with lots better entertainment systems then the other 99.9999% of the people who made up the rest of the world.

The table the leaders were sitting around had two different phone systems available on its expensive, wooden, black top. One was the same phone line that ran to the oval office desk. The other one was the direct line going to the Houston office of NASA. Both were fully functional speaker phones with high end microphones activated via switches in front of each chair.

From that second line, a voice reached out. "Madam President, it's confirmed. They have stopped moving and are holding in place. They are at the four light minutes line from Earth. If you can get them to come a bit closer, say to the two light minutes line, we will be able to get a lot better data on them."

Henna looked at the device on the desk top. "Thank you. Now the ball's in their court. We just have to wait for them to call us." She knew that transcripts were being kept of every word said in the room. She wanted to make sure everyone studying history in the future would know that she was in charge of the first meeting with aliens.

It was not long after she had made her comment that the big screen went to black and white static, and then slowly an image became clear. As the image cleared on the screen, a buzzing sound fell out of the surround sound speakers. Everyone in the room took in a shocked breath, and eyes went wide. None of them had known what they were expecting to see, but seeing a pair of humans looking back at them, that was not on anyone's list of what to expect.

Henna had had one of her many interns research into what aliens might look like. She had never read a science fiction book in her life. She had always thought they were silly and a waste of time to read. Now she had to play catch up on the science behind a lot of those books that she had not thought that much of. It had been some surprise to her that the only thing the scientists had agreed on was that they would not look anything like humans in any way. It looked like the experts were wrong and she had wasted a dozen hours listening to them.

Henna was looking at the male and female figures when they started speaking. It was in English, but the speech did not match their lip movements on the screen. It reminded her of an old French movie she had loved back in college, with very bad lip syncing. She was multi-tasking as another part of her brain paid attention to what was being said by the pair.

A female voice came over the speakers. "Greetings, and thank you, for agreeing to come together in one place. Thank you also for being willing to talk with us today. As you can see, yes, we are human, and no, we have no idea why that is. The running theory is that you're a lost colony of some kind that broke away from our people a very, very long time ago. But we can work this out later, as we get to know each other better."

The female picked up what looked like a large lap top computer so the camera could send the image back to the blue planet. "We are using this device to translate our native language into the English that we understand is widely understood on your planet. We hope to add more and expand the translation capabilities as time goes on. We understand that any mistranslation can cause some issues that will only grow as time goes by. We also imagine that there will be some issues that will come from certain groups just trying to explain how we know your language in the first place."

The school teacher like woman continued speaking. "My name is Laura Roslin and I am the elected leader of our group. At my side is Admiral Adama and he commands the military forces of our people including this warship. He is also my closest advisor. Now would you please let us know who we are talking with on your end?"

Henna smiled inside, and her mouth started working. She would later never admit to what she said, but it had been recorded and transmitted to the world. She was just lucky that she had not transmitted those words to the visitor. "They must be very advanced. They have elections, and they have a woman as their prime leader. Too bad they could not have thrown the shackles of the military off of themselves."

As she said the words out loud, the group of men could feel the temperature drop in the room around them. She would spend weeks and months preaching to whoever would listen that it was all taken out of context. Very few people that knew her would ever say in public that they doubted it very much. The consensus nevertheless would be that she had said exactly what was on her mind right at that second.

* * *

Laura and Bill listened to the President of the United States as she pointed at and named each person in the room very slowly. Bill had read a lot of the background data that had been gathered on this woman, some of it coming from her own very personal files. He had been able to keep his face still, when the first statements made its way to their speakers. The images that Kathy had dug up matched each person in turn, as they were introduced.

This was Laura's show, and Bill was only there as back up. He could play the heavy, if that was needed for some reason in the near future but for now, this was his assigned role. He was surprised when they were asked to close the distance to the planet after only a short period of working with the speed of light issues. It was pointed out that the time lapse between verbal exchanges would be shorter. Bill had a good idea, even without asking, that it was also so that they could get better data about his girl. He knew a lot more about the space observing capability available to the locals than most of those leaders in this meeting.

Laura had decided to use the translation computer from Captain Kelly's equipment supplies. She thought it might cause some concern if they just showed up out of the blue able speak to the people on this planet without issues. Humans, in general, become nervous when things get just too perfect. That was why she showed them the computer, so that the people on the planet knew this meeting was being translated. They were speaking in the native and proper Caprican Standard they had grown up with.

Of course they also had a secondary monitor piping in a live feed from Kathy's Raptor parked on Luna. She was still plugged into Earth's systems, and using Colonial Wireless was communicating all that she was getting to the Galactica with negligible lag. They were therefore able to see the Earther leaders' reactions some three minutes in advance. Just because they wanted to deal fairly, did not mean that they did not have to use a few more tricks in the bag.

After giving time to make sure that all the surface dwellers had finished talking now that they had moved the Galactica closer, Laura took charge of the meeting. She had already grown tired of all the political speaking that was going on. They were using up a lot of time, and they were not saying anything that was useful.

She felt that they were both wasting her time and posturing for the local press. Both of these things she did not feel that she had time for today. She was now going to drop her first bombshell on them. She made sure to school her face, before she moved this meeting along at a more productive pace.

"I want to put some cards on the table for you all to know, before we get too far into this meeting. First, is that we come in peace. That is, as long as we are left in peace, then we will get along great. Next, is that we are refugees. My people years ago developed what your people call Artificial Intelligence or AI. After only a few years this development went mainstream. They eventually rebelled, and we fought two wars with the thinking machines that we created. The first war ended in an armistice, after years of war and bloodshed. The second one, well they surprised us with a saturation nuclear orbital bombardment to the surface of all of our planets." She stopped talking to let her words travel the distance to the planet.

When she saw the facial expressions of the people on the screen change, she knew that the words had reached their ears and so let more flow. "We only have around sixty thousand people left out of the almost twenty billion people that were spread over twelve different planets and a hundred space outposts. We have been on the run from these machines for over five of your years, and our ships are about done in from the trip that they were never designed to make. It is going to be asked how we found you. The short answer is that we picked up your radio transmissions that have been leaking out from your planet from some time now. We picked them up. Those transmissions are now out to about ninety light years away from your planet and we just followed those transmissions to you. In short, you have a lighthouse that is very active. One that anyone would be able to see in a bubble that is ninety light years around, and it is growing."

Laura stopped talking again, and let her words travel to the world at the speed of light. Then she waited a few more seconds before she started talking again. She wanted to give them some time to process what she had told them, but she did not want them to process and then sidetrack the meeting over points that could be covered later.

"We have a brief history that we can send to you after this meeting. I think it might be helpful for you and your people to know where we come from. It will give you time to work through some of the hundreds of questions you probably have. Right now it would help you to know us better, so that you will not be surprised how it is affecting our people. Now, since we have been on the run from the AI machines, we have claimed two star systems. They are the ones that you and your people call Alpha Centauri and Tau Ceti. By our laws, this system that you are living in and everything in it, all of it belongs to you and your people. Just like those two star systems and everything in them now belongs to my people. What we would like to do, is to approach you as trading partners between our different inhabited star systems. You are our closest neighbors, after all."

Henna was thinking and taking in every word that was coming out of the speaker in the room. She had focused on the word 'refugee,' and what that might mean long term. She was so focused on that one word, that she was missing something.

"So, why are you here?"

Henna's words raced out, and Laura's came back to them to answer her question about three minutes later a little on the stern side in tone. "As I said, we would like to trade with your planet. We have enough people survive the surprise attack to not have to worry about genetic diversity. What we don't have is enough people to fully support our high tech society. That's where you, your planet's people, and its broad-based industry come in. We have to choose from making only a few tons of high grade steel at a time - and at that rate of production it will take a long time to fill the needs we have for that substance - or we can trade some of that product from your planet. That way, we can get a few shiploads worth of lower quality steel that can still do the job just as well or well enough for most of our purposes. This will help us, but also it will help you. This is because you will be able to raise your technology level on this planet as you figure out how to do things differently. The AI's, or Cylons as we call them, will find your planet sooner or later. And trust me, you will want to be ready for them. Because if you're not, then your planet might wind up like ours did. A radioactive cinder filled with the dead. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the best case scenario of the outcome of them finding you. We have seen some of the other outcomes those machine have planned for the human race, and they are worse than a saturation nuclear bombardment."

The head of the UN was able to speak before Henna could say anything more. "How are you planning on this trade mission to work? It seems to me like you have a plan already worked out."

Henna raised one eyebrow at the General Secretary. That was a very good question. One she did not think the political hack that was the figurehead of the UN would think to ask. She also wanted to know more about the threat they had just said might be out there. Then again, she did not want to risk upsetting a lot of people around the world for no reason. She knew how well 'The Bloody Shirt' routine worked on more than just the unwashed masses.

Laura was smiling as she let them into the plan that they had no idea had been in motion for some weeks now. "We will be setting up an area on your planet. This is so that some of our people who want to will have a place to live on your planet. That area will also be the site of the trade mission between both of our peoples."

Henna saw the opening open up before her eyes and she jumped in before anyone else at the table could. "The People of the United States would like to grant you this land. We are a large country, with plenty of open areas. How much land would you need for this trade mission you want to set up?"

The Chinese representative, speaking in a lot better English than was listed in any of his bios, shouted over the President of the United States. "The People's Republic of China will host this trade mission. Let me know where you would like to set it up, and it will be done by the grateful people of China."

Even as his booming voice was still saying the words, he shot Henna a look that she could only have called evil. This would not have been the first or even the third time the central government of China would be forcing their citizens to move. China had been spreading out her dragon wings over the last decade. Now it looked like they were trying to corner this new market at the ground floor.

The Russian representative at the table jumped in and said basically the same kind of statement. Just at a higher volume and with a lot of additional four letter words added in to help him make his point. Henna noticed a small smile on the face of the other woman on the screen, well before she could have heard what the two men said.

Still, she waited. Henna could tell something was coming. She did not know what, but she knew something was coming. These people had done a lot of planning, so she was very sure that they were already two steps ahead of the people in this room. They had already done something no matter what was said here today. The time delay was really starting to get on Henna's last nerve and she could feel her temper start to fray.

Then, Laura's words reached them across the distance of space. "Thank you all for your generous offers, but none of them fit what we are looking for. We spent some time reviewing your laws before we made contact with your planet and we have come up with another idea which better fits our way of life. We bought some land already, and it would be our own independent country on your planet. The laws on this land will be ours. This will cut down on any issues that might come up compared to say, if we were just tenants on some land controlled by another country." Laura let a different smile cross her face, one that was less friendly and more fox-like.

"We will be claiming the normal twelve nautical miles of territorial waters. And instead of enforcing the typical two hundred nautical mile Exclusive Economic Zone recognized under UN law, we will be asking for a twenty nautical mile military exclusion zone around that area. No warships or warplanes will be allowed within that zone. At least, not without permission from our government first. These are all covered in your laws, and we will expect them to be followed by the governments of your planet. I have also been asked to forward some information about our laws. We have fought two wars with AI's, so we take what you call cyber-warfare to a different level out of habit measured in many decades of blood. We will actively counter any such nonsense with everything we have at our disposal. This will include physical force or any type of weapons we deem fit to use to stop these attacks."

That last statement was not picked up on by many but it was put into the transcripts. It would be re-quoted many times in later years. Many had noticed that Laura had been using notes of some kind to quote what she had been saying. It was a good bit of stage craft. One that would be widely copied by later politicians.

The leader of the UN was staying out of the land issue, so he had time to come up with something else to say. In truth, he had had the question in his coat pocket for some time, but now he felt it was the right time to pull it out. The head of the UN was supposed to look after issues that had worldwide impact. It did not always work out that way, but they did try. The head of the EU could tell that the other man was not keeping up with the situation, so he asked what was on his mind.

"I would like to change the topic some. You said that you wanted to have trade mission. In our past, this has caused issue and deaths when strangers interacted with indigenous peoples. How would you suggest we counter this issue that we have seen in our past?"

It was a long wait for the reply to come back, but it was not quiet in the little room in the White House. The Secret Service had to come in twice to check. They came in just to make sure there was no blood on the floor in-between those six minutes. Henna had a mental flash of a story she had been told years earlier and had tuned out the rest. It had been about Native Americans and what smallpox had done to their population. The image that popped into her head was not neolithic people in grass huts, but the streets of NYC filled with sick and dying people.

Laura Roslin had a tight lipped expression on her face. "We have thought about that, and have taken steps. That means nothing to your people without proof. Admiral Adama has come up with a plan we can try. We can have one of our small scout ships rendezvous with your small manned orbiting outpost. The one which already has a crew on it, not the two that are still being worked on. They could take blood samples, and send them down to your labs for testing. We have a full airlock system on the scouts, so your people could stay in or get out of their suits and collect the samples. After they expose themselves to vacuum between airlocks, the suits should be safe for them to use in returning to your outpost."

Laura knew that she was not telling the whole truth. She also knew there might be some issues down the road when it became known that they had already walked the surface of that planet. The Colonials knew of a few dozen organisms that could live in space for some time on the skins of both space suits and spaceships.

The Administrator of NASA was nodding his head up and down with some force. "That could work. The Dragon pod can reenter and land without burning up on the way down. She's supposed to head down the well in a week anyway. It would not have that much of an impact on ISS operations in the near future besides some plant experiments. Vacuum and radiation would kill anything that might be on the outside of the suits that is collecting the blood samples. I would recommend that they stay in the suits during the operation."

The head of NASA turned and looked at his boss. He had a serious expression on his face like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Madam President, it's a sound plan, and one that someone in NASA should have come up with already."

He did not sound happy, but in a meeting at this level one had to take the bad with the good. He was just glad that he could make the call about the ISS. Next year the ESA would be taking over management of the station for the next three years of its operations. It was hoped that by that time, the US would have started building its own station, like the Russians and Chinese were doing now. That was the hope, but it would take a lot of money and political will to even catch up to the other two nations.

Henna nodded then looked back at the screen and spoke. "Okay. We like that plan. When would you like to do this?" Things were happening fast. Way too fast. This was just not done at this level.

Bill Adama spoke for the first time, and his voice was very distinctive as it came through the speaker. "We will launch the craft in six hours. They should be able to rendezvous with your orbiting outpost about an hour after that. It will have six of our people on board. They will take the samples as your people watch, or your people can do the work. That way, you will know that they are real samples and not staged. This is our offer to you, to help ease the way of contact between our people."

Henna was not used to things happening this fast. It was unheard of in modern times. "So what are you planning, after we get the blood samples. I would like to go back to where are you planning to put this trading post you were talking about?"

Henna looked out of the corner of her eye at the head of the UN. He was nodding his head in agreement to what she had just asked. It would seem that the Secretary General was back in his mental hidey-hole and the adults could do the hard work.

Laura smiled and Henna felt a chill run down her spin as she saw the look. "We think we can give you twenty-four hours after you retrieve the samples. That should be a good enough time frame before we take the next step we have planned out. If your people find anything in the blood samples, you can contact us on this frequency, which I'm sure your American NSA has by now. If you do find something odd, or dangerous, then we will work together to figure out what it might be. If we feel that it's safe, we will move on. As for the location that we are going to use for our new country..."

Laura looked over the top of her glasses at the camera. "We will be keeping that to ourselves for the time being. If you do not contact us with a valid and consistent issue in the time frame I have just given, then we will be landing about a hundred and fifty people on the site that we have already chosen. The people on the ground will already know where we intend to land. There will be no surprises on that end."

Laura was on a roll and just kept talking at her normal measured pace. "We will be using the scout type craft you have seen before and one of our cargo shuttles. They will not overfly any military bases or cities, but they will defend themselves if attacked. We come in peace, but we will not be abused. We know that you have a lot of issues to handle, but if you would like to contact us, please do. I look forward to meet each of you in person at a future date."

The screen faded off into static without giving the rest of the people in the room a chance to add any more questions. The room in the White House exploded into action. Earth was about to have its first recorded physical contact with aliens.

Even if the aliens looked to be human that did not mean that many of the people in the room were happy. They each had about fifty questions that they had wanted to have been able to ask the aliens. More importantly, they wanted all of those questions answered. Not one of them had been able to ask those questions during this meeting. On top of that, they each felt that they had been played by the Americans and the aliens.

Henna felt like she had been snubbed by the female looking alien. It was just wrong that they had cut the line themselves without at least letting her say something back to them. Henna had gotten too used to having the last word in anything.

The head of the UN was thinking about all of the money he might be able to get out of some of the member states in the next few months. He was counting on being able to turn the UN into the main conduit between these human like aliens and the rest of the human race. This could be so much better than the oil for food plan. He just needed to work out how he was going to do it while keeping the Americans out of the way.

* * *

James Garden had been just one of the billions of people on the planet watching the first silent film in wide release that had been put out in decades. Unlike the leader of the United States, he had read a whole lot of science fiction. He had been recording the events unfolding today for reasons that were hard to explain. He did not have kids, but he wanted to be able to show his kids or even grandkids when the time came to talk about this world shaking event.

He was not going to let it be like when man first walked on the moon, where the original film was lost to the passage of time. At least it would not happen if he could help it. He had his feet put up in a very expensive and very comfortable overstuffed recliner. That chair was in his very nice apartment that he had just finished moving into.

The rent was four times what he had paid for his last place, but it was a lot bigger. Not to mention that it came with a lot better view than his other place did. He had first looked at this very building a few years ago, but he could not have afforded it when he first started working for his current firm.

After his last bit of work with that same law firm, he had raked in some serious coins, even after the huge tax he had to pay on it. He had even gotten a massive raise to go along with that onetime bonus. All for a deal that had just happened to fall on his lap out of pure luck. He was very relaxed, and was debating opening a nice bottle of red wine in its own special refrigerator.

That was when the first images of who these aliens were came on display on his flat screen TV. It was time for history to unfold before his eyes. He had no idea what he was in for. He had been expecting to watch history, not be mixed up in the history making event.

It was a good thing that he had not been drinking. He had a hard enough time catching his breath when he saw the aliens for the first time on his high definition device. It was the Greek power couple whom they had just finished helping to buy those two islands, and move almost everyone off of them.

He was having a hard time believing what he was seeing. His heart was beating in his ears, and he struggled to catch his breath. He had started to badly hyperventilate without realizing it. If he had been an older man, he might not have lived to see the next day. For a few long minutes he did not know if he was going to die, and if he wanted to. He felt like his whole world was exploding in his face.

James was in shock, but lunged to grab his cell phone from the coffee table not far from his chair. He went to the contact list and contacted directly the most senior law partner he could. This was something that he would not have been able to do, much less think to do, just a few months ago.

When the person picked up on the other end of the line, James was very grateful but he was also worried that he was going to lose his job in the next few minutes. In the corporate world, you always had to have a scapegoat when things went wrong and it tended to be a mid-level person when the ax fell for the public.

In other words, people exactly like him would and could lose their job, or were the ones to end up in some kind of court case and then go to jail. In the corporate world shooting the messenger was a common tactic used by higher management.

"This is James. Are you watching the live feed from Washington? Good. Do you remember when I said our clients might be Greek? Well the couple that is talking to the President of the US right the hell now? I'm sure it's them."

They had some images of the client, but they had been low quality compared to what the naked eye could do. The images that were being beamed around the world were in anything but low quality. The aliens were transmitting in very high definition, and it was being re-transmitted at better than 4k resolution.

James waited a few minutes until he could get a word in edge wise with the man on the other end of the cell phone. "Yes sir, I know what I'm saying. I think we need to call everyone in now, Sir."

He was quiet again and then James started to speak as fast has he could get away with. "I will leave now. I can be in the office in half an hour. I will see you then, Sir."

James did not even change his clothes. He just left in the jeans and pull over shirt that he had been wearing at the time. He did not even lock his apartment door behind himself when he left it maybe for the last time. He was shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for the elevator to pick him up and take him to the parking deck.

He was looking over his shoulder every few steps wondering if someone from the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation was about take him. He broke many traffic laws on the way back to the office, but nothing thankfully came of it. It would seem that everyone was still watching the breaking news event and not the roads. James was counting on this as he tried to put his foot through the gas pedal.

Much to his surprise, he was not the first one to make back it to the office today. He was the third, but the only one that had not been flown directly to the firm from his or her home. The live news feeds from Washington was still on and playing on one of the large wall mounted monitors that marred the wood paneling of this office. The room filled up very fast. In less than half an hour after James had entered the office, the last person entered the main room, which looked more like a library than a briefing room.

The third senior partner looked at the younger man who was standing all alone in the great room. He was in a cleared area because no one wanted to be caught in the crossfire or when the lightning bolt hit him.

"Are you sure that's them? Are you positive?"

The tone was not threatening or accusing in any way. It was the perfect lawyer tone. It also caused every head to start to shake from side to side. It was like the death knell of an evaporating career.

James made eye contact with the senior partner and did not back down, not even one step. If he was going down, he was hoping to do so with his head held high. "I'm sure. She was wearing glasses when I met them but if you look at her when she's making a point, she tilts her head down. It's just like she was looking over her glasses at someone. The male or Admiral, I have no doubt it was her partner. That is a face you can not confuse with just anyone. The driver and I were the only ones to see them closely. Do you think we need to bring him in? I think we need to reinforce the NDA he signed until we decide what our firm's stance is going to be."

The most senior partner took a long sip of something expensive and of a very dark amber color. He was not looking at anyone in the room. He wanted everyone in the room to answer the question that he felt was the most important.

"Are we open to any serious litigation, since we helped them buy the land? Also I want someone to go find any documents which have been sent to us by them. We need to move them to the emergency safe, just in case. I don't think we need to scrub the computers, but I want us to be ready to protect ourselves, if we need to."

The senior partner had not said a word about how this might break any laws but it was right on the thin line of doing something along those lines. They had a lot of legal leeway when it came to moving or even getting rid of documents. At least before a subpoena was delivered.

James had no idea what the emergency safe might be, but he was going find out what he could later. If he still had a job after this meeting, or in the next few days, that is. Right now he was only going to do the job as best he could. The power couple were still clients and they had certain rights under the laws of this country.

Each of the partners and supporters in the room was of the professional opinion that the firm was covered from any legal action. At least, from their divergent points of view. They were well known for not talking about clients to outside parties. This new client just happened to not be from the planet Earth, but the laws were of this planet and that was where all the contact had taken place. They would not say anything until they were subpoenaed, or some armed military personnel showed up to their offices.

They agreed with James about bringing his escort/driver in to remind him of the nondisclosure agreement he signed when he first took this job. James was also directed to contact the clients through the email address that the firm had on file. He was to let them know that they would still be willing to represent them in any future matters. He was also to let them know that by law, the law firm could not disclose client information to anyone.

He had to advise them though that this was a different kettle of fish, and there could be issues in the near future. Nevertheless, the firm would fight to keep their information just inside the firm as hard as they could.

The email was not necessary. Kathy had notified Bill and Laura about the meeting being called at the law firm as soon as they disconnected from the White House. That was one of the reasons that Laura had cut the transmission to the leaders so abruptly. An email from the law firm had been received and a reply was sent back before the Raptor left the Battlestar on its way to the ISS.

The reply was simple when it was finally sent to the planet. This was one that they had not planned on sending, but now felt was needed. The message had been composed by Laura herself, and it said they were open to keeping the firm on for any future needs. She only asked that they be notified if they were approached by the local military or government about them. That they, the clients, be informed about the event first before anything was turned over to agencies of that type.

The Colonials did not think the firm would be able to do this service, but at least Laura had documented the request in case they were able to take legal action some time down the road. She had learned to always plan for the worst, but still hope for the best. One just needed to have a few plans ready to go however something broke.

The meeting was not over when the email was sent to the Colonials, and when the reply came back in such a short time it was still ongoing. The group of leaders of this legal business had to make plans to cover as many of the angles as they could. One of the items that was decided was that they needed to increase their on hand cash reserves. The firm had been one of the top ten largest buyers of the silver and gold the 'Greek' couple had been selling to finance their land buying.

They quickly voted on the idea to move over a thousand pounds of gold and silver to a bank that would sell it on the open market as soon as possible. They all knew that when people were scared they tended to want a safe haven to put their money into. Most of the time it was in the form of silver and gold. They could see that already happening in the markets that were still open.

Within a few hours the physical metals they had dropped off at the bank would be gone or pre-paid for. By the time over half of the metals were sold on the digital market the firm would already have made a nice little profit from all of the metals they had bought off the Colonials.

Soon, at least within a few days, the firm would have more cash in the bank than at any other time in its the whole history. They would have to end up paying a huge amount in taxes sometime down the road. That was in the future though, they had to protect the firm today and having a nice cash reserve was a good way to start.

* * *

The Raptor that Laura had warned the locals about was launched from the fleet flagship at six hours and three minutes after the Admiral had told them it would. By the time the Raptor did launch, copies of the transcripts had been leaked out to many news sites around the world. It was both the live and virtual kinds of services that were able to get those copies.

So when the little craft left its mother ship, even more eyes were on the fast little craft than had been on the much larger ship. More to the point, more eyes were trying to find the little alien craft. It was so small that only specialized telescopes could get images of the speedy craft. What images could be found, though, were streamed live on the Web and various news stations.

It did not take long for the jaws to start to drop as the data was processed by people with the necessary skills. When that was done the alien small craft became the fastest object ever to be tracked by the people of Earth. Houston had thought that the massive battlestar had been fast, now they had something to compare it to.

The Raptor had covered the two light minutes between the large ship and the ISS in only an hour of travel time. The people on the ground would have lost their minds if they had known the truth. The Raptor had only been moving at what they had hoped was a non-threatening speed, as viewed from the ground restricted humans. If the pilot of the Raptor had wanted, it could have made that trip in a much shorter amount of time.

There were three astronauts on the ISS for this rotation, one Russian, one American and one Canadian. The Canadian was the only one among them who knew anything about handling blood, both correctly and safely. That was why Pierre 'PT' Trudeau would be doing the heavy lifting on this short notice mission and so important task.

From NASA's point of view, it was because he had the smallest space suit ever built. That he knew how to take a blood sample actually had very little to do with it. That bit of information was not passed along to the local spacefarers. The ground crew at Houston felt that it was not needed. Besides, that had come from an agency that was well known to micromanage down to the last handful of seconds each waking minute of an astronaut's complete stay in space.

Three pairs of organic optics were watching for the very hard to track craft as it approached. When the slab sided craft was about twenty times the distance from the Earth to the moon, it became a lot easier to detect without the need of the human eye. Captain Kelly had suggested that they add an active radar transponder to the Raptor, and at the preset distance from the planet the pilot activated the device.

The little handmade device made the eight-and-a-half meter long craft reflect radar like it was a full sized Boeing 747 or Airbus A380. As the Raptor got closer to the planet it became easier to see. At least now that the humans knew where to look with their narrow field of view devices.

With the craft now a lot closer, and slowing down, the three men in the oddly shaped space station could see the alien craft. It was not pleasing to the eye, but each of those three people would have sold their firstborn child to have been able to fly the craft that was coming towards them.

This one craft had just shown that the soon to launch SLS, much less the soon to be replaced space shuttle, were as outdated as the DC-3 was today in jet travel. Just like the old rattle trap DC-3's, the SLS might still have a job that it could still do effectively, but it would not be called anything like a top of the line services provider. Not if the aliens were willing to trade.

The angled craft was imaged by every device the ISS had mounted on the outside and any handheld devices that the astronauts could find in the short time that they had. By the time the slab-sided alien craft glided to a stop, PT finished putting on his two-piece space suit in the outside airlock.

They had rushed the pre-breathing for this onetime event after getting the okay from a very reluctant flight doctor ground-side. That did not mean that PT was not hoping that nothing would go wrong when he took the suit off again after this mission. He was more than willing to risk it, to be the first person to physically see the visitors from outside of this solar system. What was a little case of dying when you could be put in the history books? All he had to do was not look bad when he did something that got himself killed.

As soon as PT had finished dressing, and one of the other team members had checked his suit for safety one last time, they were closing the hatch to the rest of the ISS from the airlock module. Final checks had all been completed, and it was all now up to PT. This was not PT's first space walk or even his twentieth. So it went quickly, about five minutes shorter than the book said it should. When the hatch that closed off the interior hatch to the ISS clang shut, it did not so much as make his heart raise one beat per minute.

While the air was pumped out of the airlock, one of his colleagues elsewhere in the ISS prepped the Canadarm2. PT would be riding the space station's robotic arm most of the way across to the alien craft. Its fifty-eight foot length would shorten the distance he would have to traverse through an untethered space walk with his Simplified Aid For EVA Rescue backpack.

Things on the ISS did not usually happen quickly, but this time it was faster than normal. The outer hatch that lead into deep space opened and PT was looking into the crystal clear night of space surrounding the football field long human crewed outpost.

A few quick puffs of gas later, PT was on his way to the first leg this journey, linking up with the end of the Canadarm2. He could have done the entire distance with just his SAFER jet pack, but it only had a finite amount of propellant. Getting dragged this way and that at least made sure he was tethered most of the way, and had enough propellant in case something happened.

In space, one could never be too sure. Things were known to happen every once in a while. So far no one had been lost to the rigors of space because of a failure in one of these devices. At least it had not happened yet. One part of PT's mind avoided the thought that there was a first time for everything.

PT used the time as he closed with the alien craft at a few centimeters per second to take a few more images. His backpack had an HD camera taking shots every few seconds of operation starting from the time he took the device out of its mount. He also had a live feed coming from an HD video camera that was mounted on his spacesuit's helmet.

As he moved closer to the craft, he noticed that the craft was not just sitting still. Something was happening to the craft as he closed the distance. This made his heart rate kick up a few notches.

A hatch just above the low mounted wing swung open and a person in a green colored suit with helmet waved for him to approach. With a jerk, the mechanical arm he was riding let him know it was at its limit. Gathering himself, PT unhooked his tether from the mechanical arm and stowed the tether away in a pouch attached to his space suit. After orienting himself, he was riding jets of compressed nitrogen gas once more, on the first untethered space walk by a human from the blue world of Earth in almost two decades.

In no time, he was only inches away from the short wing. With a quick hand movement, he fired off with the gas jets and cut his forward momentum. He was still coasting closer to the oddly shaped craft, but the last puff slowed him down somewhat. He did not want to slam into the craft, or onto the occupant that was now standing on the wing. It would have looked bad on tape. PT was supposed to be the best of the best pilots in all of the Canadian Air Force, and that would have been embarrassing.

PT let out a grunt that carried over the radio link out of the blue. He felt like he had stepped off a moving sidewalk onto steady ground, and was not ready for the transition. By god, it was gravity and not some sort of magnetic grip. That presented problems. The space suit he was wearing weighed more than a grown man did. The SAFER was lighter, about the weight of a child. Neither were ever intended to be worn in a standard gravity environment.

PT had been in space for months. His muscles had atrophied so much that when he returned he would be in for a few months worth of post-flight reconditioning. He was not strong enough to stay upright wearing the spacesuit and the SAFER. In standard gravity, nobody was, not even record-holding weightlifters. He toppled backwards, almost falling off the alien craft's stubby wing were it not for the quick actions of the alien spaceman in front of him.

His feet still on the wing, the SAFER at his back hanging off of it, and the alien's hands clasped around one of his gloved hands, the creme of the Canadian Air Force should have been embarrassed. Instead he catalogued the strange combination of sensations he was feeling as scientific curiosity took hold.

It was definitely gravity that had taken hold of his feet and lower legs. He had no way of knowing for sure but he suspected it to be standard Earth normal or close enough. The rest of his body however, seemed to just be past the edge of where the effect was present. It was like hanging off the edge of an idiot flat earther's idea of the world.

Thankfully, ground control had not asked him why he had made the grunting noise. He would have to tell them later. Not that he thought they would believe him, even with the video he was sending back but it did now kind of make sense how the craft could travel so fast without killing the crew inside the hull. Then again, he was about to collect blood samples from human looking aliens. Who knew what groundside would believe anymore. This could have been the work of Harry Potter for all anyone knew.

His eyes flicked over to the alien, wondering how they intended to proceed with this. The alien still had one hand wrapped around his, but now had his other hand up, palm facing towards him in what he hoped was a universal gesture for 'stand by.' The clear faceplate showed his mouth moving as if he was talking with his shipmates.

Presently, another alien stepped out, this time with a tether in his hand. Attaching it to the back of the one still holding him, he slapped the first alien on the shoulder twice before stepping forward to signal him to put his other hand out. Then, visibly talking among themselves and tugging at their tethers they pulled him, SAFER jet pack and all, the two or three steps into the craft.

As they pulled him in, he took a few quick glances at the craft's wing. He was also an aeronautical engineer, and he was noticing that these wings looked like they were fully aerodynamic and functional. They were not just put there for show, or as a walking platform. They had a form and that lead to a function. It possibly meant they could do different functions also. PT also noted what looked like scorch marks on parts of the lifting body, and where his eyes went, at least one of his cameras went also.

As he reached the body to wing interface of the craft, he looked closely at the edge of the angle sided craft. He noticed that the airlock was a lot thinner than any he had ever seen before. Inside the craft were four other green suited figures and for the first in a long time, PT was glad that he had a very small suit. That was because it would be a very tight fit judging by what he could see of this small craft's open cabin area.

If he had on one of the old MMU's it would simply never have fit. With his current gear, though, it would just get a little cramped. Maneuvering into this amazing craft without breaking something or killing himself would still take quite a bit of work, but he would not have to leave anything out on the wing. It would not have been ideal, but he had brought along a roll of Kapton tape just for that eventuality that would now never come to pass.

One of the four figures spotlit by PT's helmet mounted lights hit a switch off to one side on a panel that was only just barely in view, and the hatch closed behind him without making any sound. Not that there was any air to transmit it anyway.

The rapidly closing hatch pushed him the last fraction of an inch fully into the Raptor. His mind only had a second or two to think about being locked in an alien craft. Then he had other things to think about when he felt his space suit change. When one is in space with a suit in vacuum, it flexes and bulges out in places around the wearer. This was due to the air pressure inside the suit being higher than the pressure outside the white skin of the mini space craft.

When his suit started to change, PT knew that the aliens were filling the craft with atmosphere. He had no idea if it was a safe atmosphere and even if he knew it was safe, he would not be removing his helmet. In any case one of the aliens was gesturing once more. He had both hands out, palms facing downward, and slowly moving in a downward motion. Were they about to turn gravity back on?

Deciding that the real purpose for this trip was best done under gravity, PT reached out for what seemed to be handholds and slowly pushed himself down and back until he felt the SAFER's bottom make contact with the cabin's floor and the top of his backpack lean against the closed hatch. The alien nodded in satisfaction before gesturing to his teammate.

That was when he felt it. Now exposed to the effect for more than a split second, and over more than just his lower legs, his inner ear was telling him that something was definitely pulling at him. His brain was still telling him that this was flatly impossible, because they were still in space. To add to the dissonance, his atrophied body was definitely feeling the pressure. He could barely lift an arm at this point. He suspected it was only a fraction of Earth standard gravity, mainly for his benefit, but had no doubt they could crank it up to a full standard and likely more if they had to.

A hand waving near where he thought the pilot might have sat drew his eyes like a magnet. It must have been an amazing view from that location because the front of the craft was so clear. So clear that he could see the Earth floating out past the screen without that many braces in the way. He had no idea what the signal was, but all at once, the four aliens removed their helmets. Their hands were moving slowly, like they were trying to keep them in view.

PT was amazed as the helmets came off of the suited figures. The head covering helmet looked too light, small, and way too thin to offer anything like space rated protection. Next each undid the pressure suits' top sections and rolled them down. It was just like he had seen helicopter flight crews do, back in the rock pile way too many years ago.

PT watched as a needle went into each arm, and two vials of blood were quickly drawn from each person in the green colored outer suits. Each person's vials was affixed with a different colored cap as they were put in the tubes and into a slim carrying case, one after the other. When the strange box was closed, and he was shown the latching device, a way too young figure in the green space suit passed him the closed box.

PT took the offered container and slid it into a pouch on his thigh. From a pouch on the other thigh, PT removed a sample box and opened it. Inside this box were three vials of blood all from each of the people living on the space station. Taking a blood sample in zero g was crazy hard, and it had only been done a few times in the history of the ISS. NASA, and even the Russians, had just decided that it was better to wait until they had returned from space to do any blood draws.

They now had done it three more times, and it was added into the logs of the ISS project. PT had been able to do the blood extraction, and it had been his idea. If he was going to be getting some blood samples from these aliens to test, then why should they not want to test the blood of humans from Earth? He and ground control had no idea that these people had already been to the planet's surface. The blood coming down was more a gesture to calm the primitive locals than for any real medical reason that the Colonials could think of.

PT waited for the crew and passengers of the little craft to reseal their suits. He was very envious of how they were able get in and out of their space rated suits so easily. When they were done, his suit started puffing out, reminding him that he was about to have to leave this strange craft.

As he felt the pull of gravity against him dissipate, he pulled himself up to his feet. When the cabin hatch behind him opened, PT grabbed the its edge and used it to turn him around to face the wing. Once he was facing the right way, he awkwardly step-bounced off the wing. It was like watching a duck walk while wrapped in bubble wrap. It was funny as long as you were not the one that had to do it.

With the alien small craft's gravity turned off, a single step-bounce took him over the thick edge. Even with his much wrecked legs. Actually, ledge may be a better description for the wingtip he just sailed past. Or a cliff. He took a deep breath and placed both hands on his chest mounted control unit, ready to make course corrections.

His goal was the end of the mechanical arm still hanging a few dozen feet away from where the alien craft had parked itself, and he made it with just a few puffs of propellant. Wrapping his arms around its thirty-five centimeter across frame like the lifeline that it was, he fumbled with his tether. Once he had affixed his tether to it, it moved once more, dragging him back into the now obviously primitive space station.

PT could not see it, but the Colonial Raptor behind him had closed its hatch already. Even before he got back to the ISS, it was already out of the station's line of sight. PT made it to the ISS hatch without issues, but had to wait another ten minutes in the cold of space to make sure that his suit was safe and not carrying any live bugs into the alien craft with him.

It was during this enforced solitude that PT realized not a word had been said between him and the human like aliens. More to the point, not a word had been sent up to his radio from any of the normally very talkative ground stations. It had been the quietest mission he had ever been associated with.

After that realization, and the enforced wait was over, everything else went fast. As soon as the airlock's air pressure was back up to being even close to safe, the inner hatch was popped open. PT handed off the package, and it was moved to the waiting Dragon cargo pod at the other end of the space station.

All the while, he finished his required post spacewalk activities. Little things, like getting out of the suit and stowing the SAFER to be recharged. It took him almost an hour of hard work, but he finished getting out of his suit. It was just in time to watch the Dragon craft separate from the larger ISS for its long fall down to the planet's surface. That surface was 'only' two hundred and forty nine miles below them at the time of its separation.

Normally it would fall for a day or so, before being low enough to reenter the blue planet's atmosphere for the rest of the trip down. Today was not normal, not even close. That meant the engines around the craft fired as soon as ground control was sure that the exhaust would not adversely affect the fragile space station. The craft was quickly lined up for reentry only two hours after leaving the ISS docking cargo hatch.

The Dragon was rated to survive reentry even at this steep of an angle when it had been built. This was because the idea behind the craft was that it needed to carry experiments and other tools to be tested back dirt side. Every square inch of the space with in the craft had a plant and sets of tests planned out for it. These were thrown out the airlock, and not figuratively. Ground control had been forced to choose what was needed more. Did they want to see what zero-g did to the growth of a type of slime mold, or did they want to see and test some real alien blood?

The alien blood test won out hands down. The scientist who had won the grant for this round of growing tests was very heartbroken to find out that all of his hard work had been dumped out of the craft to burn up a few weeks later, as it re-entered the atmosphere without any protection. He was promised funding on a replacement run of tests sometime down the road.

Deep down, he knows they were hollow promises, but he nodded along with them as the words were spoken. He was just happy that he had been able to get some data and would only lose the last week of testing. That did not mean that he was not going to try to get something out of NASA down the road.

* * *

The Dragon space craft should have landed off the coast of San Dago, but in the rush to get the blood samples back down, the orbital path of the craft put the splashdown off of Wallop Island, Virginia. A Navy LHD, the USS Anchorage, had been close by. It had worked with NASA in the past but only a handful of her current crew had been involved with that.

She had been doing some training out of Little Creek, and was able to collect the slightly burned craft and pull it in to safety. Getting it from the water, to the well deck, to the main deck had taken some 'unique' skills and two pointed remarks from the Chief Boatswain for the officers to go take a coffee break for a while. When they came back to view the work, the job was done.

After a brief, but very thorough check, the space cargo craft was slung under a VC-22 for a quick trip off the ship and back to the coast, about sixteen kilometers away. By the time Raptor 789 had landed back on the Galactica, the Dragon cargo craft was just being opened for the first on the planet's surface. Three vials were rushed to the nearby CDC lab by a small, but very heavily armed convoy.

The nine remaining tubes were packaged in three different cold containers. Two containers were loaded into jury-rigged pods in the bays of a waiting F-22. It had been sitting on the same runway the VC-22 had used. One other twin set of blood filled tubes was loaded into a State Department owned Gulfstream G6 with a few armed men as escort shoved into the sleek craft.

After the package was locked down in the weapons bay of the stealth fighter, the fighter did a combat takeoff using only about a third of the run way to get airborne. When the fighter was over the ocean, it used its super cruise ability to put some miles behind it at the quickest possible time.

It would hook up with a KC-46 Pegasus tanker out of Iceland, even super cruise used a lot of fuel. Only a handful of hours after leaving US airspace, the high tech fighter was setting down at a Royal Air Force Base in northern England. This base was as close to the British version of the CDC as they could get.

The pods were opened and one container of blood filled tubes was on its way off of the base under heavily armed escort. The remaining cold container was handed off to more moon suited figures, but this cold box went into the backseat of one of the two MIG-25RU Foxbat-C's sitting on the flightline. They were waiting for the package to come from the Americans, and they only knew the most basic information about why they had been given this mission. This was nothing new for the Russian pilots to have to deal with, though.

It was with some measure of disbelief that the two Russian Pilots watched the F-22 make a short approach to the airbase. The two Russian made craft had been on the ground for only few hours. They had been dispatched as soon as word came that the Dragon capsule was recovered. The two craft had been sent to collect the prized material, because their higher command were not confident that one aircraft would make it. Not without having some kind of mechanical issues while on the mission. So in typical Russian fashion, they had sent two of everything.

With the package loaded into the back seat of the lead MIG, the two twin-seated, twin tailed fighters made a high speed dash back to their home country. The twin massive engines burned fuel as fast as it could be pumped into the twin engines. Russian Air Force tankers had been cleared by NATO and were at two preset points along the pre-approved flight plans to keep the tanks on those MIG-25's topped off.

The Gulfstream G6 was an unarmed civilian craft that was used worldwide. It was also one of the fastest non-military jets in operation, though still only rated high subsonic in terms of airspeed. It would have been faster if they had used another F-22 to carry the small cargo, but no one trusted the Chines not to take advantage of the situation. Tensions had been on the rise again in that part of the world for the last few years.

The US Air Force, and for once all of the different intelligence agencies in the country, had agreed that if an F-22 landed in their territory, the Chinese might not let it take off again. More to the point, it would not be allowed to leave again with all of its parts still attached to the airframe.

So it had been decided that even though it was slower, the G6 would be the best way to transport the blood samples to the Chinese Government. A key part of the Chinese leadership was not happy with this plan, and they were not afraid to let everyone know about it.

If the Americans had known, or could have contacted Kathy in lunar orbit, she would have gladly told them that the Chinese were intending to detain any military aircraft that brought the samples to them for an extended inspection. And it was very doubtful that it would be returned in anything like a complete state for future operation... ever. More than a few key players were hoping to get a look at both the avionics of the renowned fighter, and strip her of the F119-PW-100 engines she carried but the Chinese were not going to let the rest of the world know that.

The first test results of the blood were coming in just as the F-22 was finishing midair refueling off of Iceland. It was coming from the American run CDC, but the test results were being distributed fairly widely. That was the plan anyway. Each test was run three times at the American CDC, and no one knew how many times at other locations the blood filled tubes were sent to. The tests were not televised even with protests coming in faster than they could be read and the locations of the testing sites marked on a map.

Even the President of the United States was forced to wait six hours before they first update on the blood test results was received. The long and short answer on the blood tests were that they were not able to find anything major in them. They did find a few items that were strange, but nothing that was very aggressive or raised any red flags. They expected that by the time the next flu season hit it would only have a very slight effect on the general population. Other than that, the CDC would still test and start working on getting a full DNA break down on the samples.

Both the Russians and Chines did contact the huge warship. They were claiming that they had found some kind of issues in their tests, but it was felt by the Colonials and most people on the ground that this was just them dragging their feet to somehow get an advantage.

The messages got responses from someone on that ship but an updated time for when the aliens would start landing on their still unidentified land was not given. The return message had not been kept to those two leaders. It was posted in a news release to the whole world and they went right along with some emails that were not meant to see the light of day to make the Colonials' point.


	22. Chapter 22 New Owners

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 22 New Owners**

Earth End Mar 2018

NORAD was back up and in operation with a full staff, and again she was located deep under Cheyenne Mountain. All of her people worked day and night. Some of those staff positions were filled with people who had been brought back from retirement to do the same tasks they used to do a few years before. They had been lucky in the reactivation. They only had to power up the systems and replace a few air filters to get the place back into operation. It was still not fully operational, but they had a job to do.

Working underground, one quickly loses track of the day and night cycle that the rest of the planet was used to having. Some of the Cheyenne Mountain complex had come back online in 2011, and had even quietly grown. Then, about three times a day, a truckload of rock was removed to add more space under the mountain. More space was then being created to fit all the new workers and systems being added for other missions. That seemed to have been a good time, but now that rate of expansion looked to be about to increase by a few orders of magnitude.

One of the jobs that had now been dropped back into the staff's collective laps was something called space detection and tracking. It started when the first alien craft was seen over the moon. Over time, as more and more assets were diverted to their control, more data pumped through their systems first.

Someone had even been able to get enough funds to have the massive Boeing 747 SOFIA flying for the first time today after over four years of being grounded. The flying telescope had been grounded simply due to lack of funds to get it off the ground. These were only a few of the projects suddenly getting new leases in life.

Practically all the telescopes on Earth were looking and taking still images. They were coming in and being processed by the gigabits. Most of that went through the 'new' Space Command. Images now showed that the huge alien ship was over fourteen hundred meters long from its nose to the end of its massive engines. They were still working on how wide the beast might be. The ship was only visible from one side, and she was not rotating like a normal space body should.

The dark, gunmetal finished ship was now the most photographed space object ever in the history of man. On that planet, at least. Everyone wanted more detail, but at this distance they could only make out objects that were fifteen feet and larger on the great ship. If she moved closer, they would get even better images. So far though, that had not happened. At least people now accepted that she was a warship.

Contracts had been sent out already by a dozen different countries for better space imaging capabilities, but those would take years to get operational. The oddsmakers were split fifty-fifty on whether anyone alive now would still be around to use them when they finally came online.

A massive clock was counting down to the next event that the aliens had announced from out between Earth and Mars. Normally after a clock like that hit zero, the stress would start to lessen. That was not the case with this clock. This time, as each second passed, the stress mounted more and more.

The countdown was set by order of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff to the estimated time that the aliens had given for their first landing on this planet. This was after the suggested blood tests had been completed. It was basically a best guess made by some intelligence analysis office somewhere else under the mountain.

As the clock hit one minute and forty-five seconds, a station on the third row and center of the room shouted in full leather lungs volume. "Vampire! Vampire! I have two high speed separations from the target."

On the massive main screen center mounted in the underground room's wall, a live image of the alien ship now had two computer generated dots appear near it. The data on display was already outdated by events happening in the real world.

"Update! Four Vampires!" Twenty-five seconds later the airman called out once more. "Six Vampires! We have thirty percent confidence first two Vampires are both Type 1 craft." The excited airman had time to take a breath. When he started talking again it was in a more calm voice.

"Vampire count is now twelve! The computer is working on identification of the rest of the Vampires. Still tracking all targets. There is some kind of weak active radar strobing on the Vampires. It might be like the squawk boxes on the stealth fighters? Each one is a little different."

A second station that was receiving radar data now drew everyone's attention away from the missile threat station. "New target. It's large. Radar is having no problem tracking this one. She is not, I say again not, using a transponder. Designating this as a Type 3 craft at this time. It is moving slower than the Type 1's. Re-tasking orders sent to assets to refine the data on the new target."

It was common to skip or just do odd numbers when first identifying new equipment. This time, they were just assigning numbers in the order that the alien craft were being seen. Later, after more information was collected, they might change the code names.

The general on duty watched the data as it came to his ears and was displayed for everyone to see. He picked up the phone before it could finish its first ring. "Yes, they have launched. It looks like a dozen Type Ones. Yes, the Ones are the types that they called a scout when they first made contact. We have a new type that we are getting data off of. It's larger and slower than the Type Ones. I would bet that it's a transport of some kind."

The general stopped talking for a second as he pressed the phone to one ear. "No, I don't think it's a missile strike. I think she is a military craft. Why? Because those Type Ones are bloody hard to track on radar unless they have that transponder thing running. I still think we should alert our fighters, just in case. At worst it's good training for them to have a full scale alert. Worst case, it will only cost some fuel and added wear and tear on the fighters. We still have no idea where they are going to land, after all. I hope to have that information narrowed down when they are closer." The general quit talking and was focused on what was being said that only he could hear.

No one in the room knew who was on the other end of the phone with the general. As the phone was put down, the Joint Chiefs of Staff were sending the word to every US airbase to launch every even close to operational aircraft into the air. Those ground crews had been working day and night to have them ready with a full load of weapons. It did not matter whether it was air to air weapons or air to ground, the craft was loaded.

Just get them off the ground with enough fuel to put as much space between them and the nearest target. This action was soon followed by every other nation on Earth. No one wanted a repeat of what the Germans had been able to do in World War 2 to Russia, Poland, and to an extent France or what the IDF did to the Egyptians. No one wanted their aircraft caught on the ground and destroyed in job lots without much risk or loss to a potential enemy's forces.

The twelve Colonial Raptors were just past the moon's orbit waiting and this time they were not hiding behind that larger orbiting body. They were right out in the sun for anyone to see if they that had the right equipment. They had outrun the one of the handful of operational seventy ton capable cargo shuttles called GAL-360's left in the Colonial fleet.

Once the heavier craft caught up, they adjusted course and made their way to the target area on the blue planet. They were using only Colonial made equipment. Now that they knew without a doubt that they were not picked up by the people that called this planet home, it was safer for the Colonials.

Deep in the mountain, a huge mass of super computers were automatically tracking the craft as they started moving again. The massive main display was a mass of circles trying to work out where the landing was going to be. Then all of a sudden it was just one large red circle displayed on the surface of the planet. This was important enough that it needed to be passed along to higher command in person instead of just relaying the data to screens that were sometimes a few thousand kilometers away.

A three star General picked up a phone. "It is going to be a Pacific Ocean landing, near the equator. Looks like they might have bought an island or two out there. It is not going to be a major island either. I would suggest that both PACCOM and the Pacific Fleet go on full alert."

He put the phone down because the people on the other end had already hung up on him. He did not really care, because he was looking at an image of what they were calling a Type 3 craft. While he was looking at that image, the three Pacific Ocean based aircraft carriers were emptying their decks and every submarine was diving almost to crush depth.

He looked over at where the group of civilian aerospace designers and military intelligence people who liked studying equipment way too much had gathered. When he just looked at them with a blank face, one of them opened her mouth. She was in the back and was short enough that the General could not see her.

"It's a cargo truck. " It was a simple statement. It also was one that could get a lot of people killed if it turned out to be wrong.

A long dark haired man standing closer to the General did a slight turn and gave a shrug. "You're calling it a truck? It is moving faster than New Horizon did when she buzzed the moon." It seemed that this long haired male disagreed with the female voice.

The younger one did not even try to look up, she stepped around the person that was blocking her view. She always liked looking at someone she was talking to. "It's of comparable volume to the old space shuttle, and look at the performance compared to the Type 1. It's slower, its turns are twice as wide, and is without whatever they call their stealth stuff. So, it's a truck. If it was a bomber or other military craft, it should have better stealth."

The General looked at them but they did not notice him. He would bet later that they did not even realize it was their boss who had poked the bear. "A bomber is slower, and has a larger radar cross section than a fighter. Let's have some proof what it is and what it is not." He did not need to say more, as the group started burning grey matter to figure out what this new craft might be.

The General happened to agree that this new craft was likely a cargo truck but he wanted them to think about it some more. The arrival of these new humans had changed Space Command's, along with everyone one who had anything to do with space, ideas about how fast a manned craft could fly in the real world.

* * *

Meanwhile the formation of Colonial craft had entered the upper atmosphere. The number was now up to thirteen, as the Raptor that Kathy was in had joined the group. It came out of hiding near the large moon and joined up with her sister ships in their finally approach to the landing site. The Admiral did not want to show off too much to the locals. They made a standard approach to the two islands that were going to be their new homes on this planet.

The delay to make planetfall had not, in fact, been due to the slower cargo shuttle. It was to make sure that the jumbo jets flying near the two islands were out of the way. When they came flashing by many times the speed of sound, it could cause the lumbering beasts issues.

On any given day, there where over sixty thousand civilian and military aircraft flying around within the atmosphere of this planet. Today, the number was almost double. One of the reasons that today and this time had been chosen, was the flight plans. This was the time and day that the area they were about to land in had the fewest aircraft and with the largest windows. All so that the Colonial craft would not disturb their flights and risk something like a four hundred and fifty ton Boeing 747 crashing into the open ocean from a surprise jackhammer blast of supersonic air.

The fourteen small spaceships now flew in a tight formation, followed by everything that could even have a chance of looking and seeing them. Most did not know if they could see the craft or if they were just using the wrong type of device to do the job in the first place. It did not matter if the device was ground mounted, aircraft carried, or if it was in orbit around the planet. Everyone was looking at that spot of the world.

As it turned out, the best information would come out of an Aussie E-7A Wedgetail working on a major anti poaching operation in the South Pacific. She had all of the little fleet of craft on IR, visual, and even radar after a fashion. At least, until the group dropped below six thousand meters. After that, it only had the largest craft in that space capable fleet on its systems. It was able to track it all the way to the landing strip on Raiatea.

This information was quickly passed along to their government, who passed it along to the rest of the world without much of a delay. It was too important to worry about treaties of friendships, or anything like that. This was the first documented landing of an alien ship or ships in the history of the planet. Stuff like that had never been put down into writing on any treaty written by the hand of man. That is, outside of some books on sale at the discount shop. That they got some bragging rights out of it was just a bonus.

The only airfield on the two islands was at the north end of Raiatea. It had a nice, long and thick runway that could, and until a few weeks ago did, handle craft as large as the Boeing 757, but normally only had to handle two 737 sized craft at a time. This meant that the island only had a small support area for those smaller craft. The extra length had been added through a UN grant. It was supposed to be used to make it an emergency landing area for long range trans-oceanic flights that might overfly the area at any time.

The Colonials did not need a long runway. The long runway would make a great parking place for their spaceships that they were hoping to visit this planet with later, though. Ten Raptors landed on the parking tarmac that 737's had used up until the island was taken under new ownership. The other three Raptors landed in the small car and bus parking lot on the other side of the air-traffic control tower and main boarding building.

The cargo shuttle landed in the middle of the runway, in the area that the commercial jets had used to move from the runway to the tarmac after landing. The pavement at this spot was thicker and could best hold the weight of any of the Colonial craft. As soon as the doors to the cargo craft opened, everyone almost killed themselves in the rush to put both feet on the hard ground of the planet. It was almost like watching a clown car empty, but only almost.

Charles Bellamy, engineering chief of the Pegasus, was the last one out of the cargo carrier. He knew better than to slow down this bunch of wild kids. Now he was in charge of getting these two islands ready for the housing and business needs of what was left of his people. But first, even he had to take a few minutes to enjoy the sea breeze after he left the little craft.

He just stood there until a bead of sweat rolled down his neck and soaked into his undershirt. This brought him back to the task at hand. He had a lot to do and it was not like he or anyone else had ever done something like this before. They were just lucky that they had been able to have so many images and data files on where they were going to live for a while.

Bellamy touched his ear piece transmitter. "Okay people, it's warmer than on that last rock. We have work to do. Team One! I want you working to set up in the control tower with your equipment. Everyone on this rock will know where our new home is any minute now. Keep them away. Raptor 478 you're on ready five. If someone does not listen to Team One, you can only use weapons if you are fired on first. Or if they cross the three click line that the President told them about. Other than that, the Old Man said it's Starbuck's Rules on flying around them."

Bellamy had to stop talking, as he knew that this statement would start more than a few of them laughing and not listening to his words. When he thought that it was a good time to continue talking, he did.

"Team Two, start unloading the concrete plant. Use the water access on the west side of this tarmac. Team Three use the buildings across the way on the north side of the runway. That is now Defensive Point One and your new home for the next few weeks. Team Leaders, make sure you are ready for both the short term and the long term mission. I want everyone else unloading everything from all of the craft, and putting them in our new operation office. That would be this big and sold looking building at the edge of the tarmac to our front." This time Bellamy was done talking. He could see people starting to move as he had given his orders.

It was like he had kicked over an ant hill. More and more people went everywhere all at once. Bodies were moving, boxes, and bags started flying out of the fourteen grounded spacecraft. Bellamy did not join in the lifting as he moved out of the chaos.

He had one of the Rifts Earth made lightweight computers in his hands. He had already started planning the next phase of operations now that he was on the ground. Every building on the two islands that the Colonial government now owned had been inspected, photographed in detail and mapped out. They were pretty sure that over ninety-nine percent of whatever was left on the twin island had been marked and tagged by personnel hired by the legal firm. He just wanted to both make sure and to have one central database to work with to hold that data.

The next job on his list was to double check and find anything that might have been missed or overlooked by the people that had no idea why they had been doing the task. Every inch of these islands belonged to the Colonial Government, but soon they would have to start selling it off to people still stuck in the hulls of space ships. People that wanted to live on this planet instead of one of the other two habitable planets they already owned.

The rule Roslin had pushed through made sure that no matter what a family group could pay, they could only buy one lot of property on this blue world. The law was only good for three years, after which all bets were off on who bought what. Still, for now, it was hoped that it would make the distribution a bit more even. One modification that had been made to the law stated that owners had only four months after buying the land to move to the islands.

Roslin was not going to let people buy the land and hope to use it as an investment later on down the road. This had not made some people happy, but she would not budge. Every time someone raised a stink, she invited them onto one of the news talk shows and asked them some very uncomfortable questions in that very public setting. She had only needed to do that twice before those comments grew quiet. By now, they had dried up to dust in the history books.

Bellamy knew that most of the buildings were going to have to be torn down, just because they were little more than shacks. Plus, he was betting that they would not pass the old Colonial minimum safety or health codes. That was the meterstick they were going to use on the local buildings. They simply did not have another one they could use at this time. He had to start figuring out how many that total number was and very fast.

For the rest of the day, and deep into the night everyone worked before Bellamy called a halt. Until that point, it was all hands on deck, and everybody had better be working. There were only about ten thousand people in the fleet who would have loved to have these jobs today. They had a list of things to do. By dark the main airport building was closed up and powered by a small tylium generator they had brought down with them.

He would have preferred to use one of the power systems Captain Kelly's people had, but they were in still too short supply. Plus, they had too many other uses the tylium generator could not hope to even try to fulfill. About forty percent of the work crew was up at all times during the night. It was just in case something bad happened, and they needed to react quickly with a lot of firepower. This little practice had been drummed into the Colonials by repeated training sessions with Major Weston and his people.

They had been on the ground almost two hours before the first military related airplane nosed it way across the twenty mile zone. It was not a strictly a military plane, but rather a small chartered jet. It was one that a news crew had rented so that they could interview the aliens first.

They had been on a nearby island shooting some interviews about the local economic boom. With the aliens reported to have landed in the local area, they had been re-tasked by their network, to go get the scoop of a lifetime. They had not taken no and not right now to heart when told to go away by a strange voice over the radio.

Racetrack had had to go Starbuck on them. She had missed the nose of the 'fast' jet by only about a dozen meters. The pilots later said that they could count the rivets on the bottom of the craft. They had flown by so close they had almost cut off the very pointed nose of the aircraft. That had been the last straw for the two civilian pilots. No amount of bitching from the news crew was going to change the two pilots' minds after that. The money just was not that good.

The craft turned around and headed to Tahiti where the pilots planned on having more than a few drinks each. The stronger the better, they were thinking. What they did not know was that word spread as soon as they had landed. The pair of pilots did not have to buy a drink as long as they kept taking about the first encounter with a proven alien space craft. The pair were hammered within a pair of hours of landing on the ground.

By evening, Bellamy had to have two Raptors up at all times just to keep everyone away from the pair of islands. Of course, while the atmospheric craft could be stopped, they could not stop the various spying and Earth-observing satellites overhead. Especially not the ones that had had their obits adjusted so they would overfly or in one case just stay over this bit of planet at all times. Under the laws of this planet, that was perfectly okay. So the Colonials also would have to let them stay. At least, for now.

At first light the next day on the island, twelve of the fourteen small craft rose from the island and returned to outer space in one massive formation. Two would be left behind to act as alert units and were already lightly armed for the role.

The ones that left only had a minimal crew of two people per craft when they left the ground. The rest of the personnel that they had carried were getting ready for a long day of tasks. Instead of burning a lot of fuel on a slow ride back to the Battlestar, the twelve just flew past the geosynchronous orbit line, then hit their jump engines.

It was only because of the sheer number of instruments watching the rising craft that the people of Earth knew from start to finish where the fourteen craft had gone. It was no surprise to the military and governments that had seen the data on the first scout. It did cause a lot of sleepless nights to a growing list of people for a lot of months to come. It was not just the military that was concerned about what happened. The government and science sectors all wanted to know how they did it. More importantly, they wanted to know how to duplicate this little trick of going faster than light.

GAL series ships generally came with jump engines, if short ranged ones. This particular one had lost the one it was built with at some point in the past. If the Gal had been carrying any cargo, the jury rigged Cylon jump drive would not have worked at all. Empty of cargo however, it could keep up with the Raptors without any issues. This was something that the people of Earth would find out about in later days. It would take about half a decade to find out why it only jumped sometimes.

Two hours later another dozen Raptors repeated the jump, but this time they went from the Battlestar back to the planet. What was missed was a lone Raptor that jumped in a different direction from the group headed to the blue planet.

It was carrying Roslin back to the rest of the fleet, now that things were going to plan. This was a very important mission, but she also had to govern the remains of a whole civilization. She would be back in a few weeks for the next phase. Or unless Bill decided that there was something that was more in her line of expertise than his. If that happened, then she might be back to this star system sooner than the two had currently had planned for.

When the dozen craft popped back into space, and in very high orbit, they were in almost the exact the same spot the previous set had been in before disappearing. The lead craft made contact with the tower on the island, before adjusting course to come down to the planet's surface.

This trip was carrying the supplies needed to support the two Raptors that would be staying on the island full time. It was going to be a difficult balancing act to both build the base, defend it, and not scare the ever loving crap out of any of the major powers on the planet.

Starbuck had wanted to leave a pair of Vipers on the main island, but it was explained to her that Vipers were thoroughbreds and that they needed a lot of support and attention. That was just to keep them in any shape to see combat one time. She had not liked it, and she had pushed back. That is, until Bill Adama explained to her that the Raptors were the best fit, and that they could sit for weeks without even needing a hangar. This was something Starbuck knew could not happen with Vipers, not even if they had a huge support system in place.

The Raptors could do any number of jobs with very little in the way of spare parts and support needed. Later, if they really needed a pair of Vipers, they could be moved down once the base was more established. The plan was to, in fact, move a support team of Vipers down because they were the best at getting somewhere quick. Though this was only after a long list of other items were done to build up the supporting infrastructure first.

Twelve Raptors were acting as transports, while the remaining two were now carrying the maximum mix of weapons that they could hang on the craft and have it still be able to make the trip from orbit to the surface. They were carrying everything from rapid fire slug guns, medium sized cannons, guided and unguided missiles that were a mix of Colonial, Cylon and even some Rifter tech. It was all slung under or on the spacecraft's outer frame.

Those two craft would be the power projection force of the island. They could be backed up by any Raptors that just might happen to be on a mission to the island. Those two would be the bringers of fire for the two Colonial owned islands.

After the first day, it became common knowledge that they were going to have their hands full for the next few weeks. It took some fancy flying, but no one was killed by these two Colonial gunships. That is to say, that the pair did cause more than a few gray hairs among other pilots who would not take the hint to leave the area.

Boats were harder to keep away from the reef enclosed pair of islands, and more than one weapon had to be fired in close to the bows of some ships. Normally, after that they would get the hint that the Colonials wanted to be left alone for the meantime. That is, until another ship's captain got paid enough to try to make the run in close to the area.

After a lot of hard work, the first week saw the two islands re-scouted and mapped down to the centimeter. Power was run and supplied to the largest marina on the island, which just happened to also be near the only airfield on the island. A lot of the work had been done on the airfield.

The whole airfield had been resurfaced using the small concrete plant they had put up on the first day. This allowed it to better handle the heavier weight of the Colonial space ships that would be using it to land, load up and offload cargos. It was something that was planned on, but was known to not be needed for at least the next few years. Even so, it was decided that it was best to just resurface the whole area of the one runway early on. To at least some level.

The downside was that this major resurfacing took the entire supply of some of the harder to find items that were needed to make the Rifts Earth inspired concrete. A thicker layer would be needed for the larger of the atmospheric capable ships. What they had on hand was judged to be enough for the meantime, serviceable enough for most of the rag tag fleet's purposes.

If a thicker layer was needed, the small concrete plant was going to stay set up for any need that the two islands would need both now and in the future. Bellamy was thinking that a heavy layer of protection would only be needed in a few select areas. That was a better use of the resources that the Colonials had on hand.

Kathy had been able to set up a computer and other items, and use them to access the global information grid from a fixed office in the airport building. She was able to make a web page for the Colonials before even making landfall. The web page was intended to provide information that people wanted to find about them. It only had information that had been approved by the Old Man, but it could take a person a few days to read all of it.

The key piece of information was that contact would not be made. That is, not until after their leader had addressed the UN and the rest of this world. No date was given, because some things had to happen before that date could be set. The released information was hoped to help the average person on the planet know a little more about them, at least on the most basic level of information.

Another of those items to work through showed up among the growing number of emails coming in, most of which had been forwarded to Admiral Adama. It was from James and the law firm he worked for. The communication was filled with legal terms, but it was an expected set of emails. They were reporting that they had already been approached by several groups, both from within their government and without.

A surprising number of these contact attempts had made it clear that they did not care about little things like laws. They were handling the situation for now, but there might be a limit to what they could do in the near future at their main office. He passed along that his firm wanted to put a satellite office on one of the two islands, when the Colonials were ready and only if the Colonials wanted one to be there in the first place. The email included a list of possible jobs the law firm could help with. They also asked for a copy of any Colonial legal guides both for their use and possible future distribution.

Every few days for the next three weeks ten to twelve Raptors and sometimes a heavier cargo shuttle would make the trip to the blue planet. Bill also had to keep in touch with the rest of the fleet and the Colonials. This was done with Raptors shuffling back and forth between Earth and the other two Colonial claimed systems. Bill knew that they would not be able to keep this rotation secret from the people of Earth. After a few days, he stopped trying. The changeover from the use of mass flights to cover one craft was quickly picked up by the ground based humans.

Bill was starting to have to keep a closer eye on the Raptors' jumps to make sure his small scout crafts' engines do not wear out too quickly. It was getting harder and harder to maintain their small jump engines and they had to take the time to build a dirtside facility somewhere soon.

They now only had a few working examples of the smaller Cylon made engines. Some were kept for future use as engineering examples, with an eye toward being able to start production of them in the near future. Bill had his heart set on that being a reality within the next twelve to eighteen months.

When the time was right, and all of the required build up was complete, two messages were sent from the flagship to the blue planet called Earth. The first message was to the head of the UN in New York City. It asked for a time and date, so that the leader of the Colonies of Kobol could address the members of that body. They also suggested that it should be broadcast to the rest of the world live.

The second message was sent to the Air Force General in charge of NORAD under the mountain in Colorado. The first message took two days to get a reply, and a date and time were set up along with a copy of the notice sent to the US State Department. It was a requirement to let them know if a foreign head of state would be entering the country to address the UN.

Not surprisingly, the second message did not take as long to receive a reply. The message reiterated that a VIP ship would be appearing in high orbit at a given date and an estimated time. In addition, the message also said that the ship would only be lightly armed, but that when it entered the planet's atmosphere it would come with a four craft escort. Said escort would follow it all the way to the twin islands that the Colonials had occupied.

The reply from NORAD had been a simple thank you for the notification, and asked for a meeting to set up a better and faster method for the notification of any future arrivals to the vicinity of the planet. The information about the UN was not covered in any of those communications.

NORAD had fallen into a habit of watching the little craft leave the monster mother craft over the last few weeks. By this time, it was almost old hat watching the Type 1 and Type 3 craft as they launched from the ship that only just stopped being referred to as a Type 2. They watched them disappear two light minutes out, only to reappear high in orbit over the planet. NORAD held on to the data they had been given for forty-eight hours. After that they published to the whole world the time and possible location of the ships' arrival on to their web page.

Everyone assigned to NORAD and their families knew that something important would be happening. The facility was classified, and only people with the right clearance and a need to know were allowed into the huge underground room. Still the room was packed with people. The rest were in small groups that were each headed by a person with both the right skills and the right equipment. The visitors, in fact, just made it harder for them to do their jobs.

All eyes were on the location in orbit that they were expecting the VIP ship to arrive at. That was probably why when the massive warship launched something it did not get picked up for almost ninety seconds. Despite the data being auto displayed on the screens mounted high on the walls for everyone to see.

The computers were still on the job, and had noticed something new had happened. After those ninety seconds, things started to happen quickly. It turns out the 'New NORAD' needed to work on their communication between the planet's surface and those other ships in the solar system. Then again, it was not like any of them had done anything like this before. Eventually a standard procedure would be written down. Right now there was nothing to be found anywhere. Some people do not respond to shocks that well.

"Vampire! Four Vampires launched! Good God! Look at that red shift!"

It was a frantic yell that shattered the calm of the room. Soon eyes, arms, hands and butts started moving. The people of Earth had thought that the little scout craft had been fast. Now they were getting their first look at a Viper class space superiority craft on turbo boost. The people on the planet now knew what the Colonial Fleet called fast.

When the Vampire call was sung out, the three star general's head snapped up to look at the screen. He spoke before his mind could catch up as it tried to process the data displayed. The only part of his brain that was working was the part that was seeing the estimated speed of the four Vampires climbing. He needed to know one thing.

"Are they missiles?"

"Negative additional launches. We are not tracking them on radar! We only have them on imaging systems and IR. Would you look at that heat coming off the back end of those babies! What are they using for fuel, nuclear bombs?" The Colonials had just surprised the whole planet, again. The field of propulsion was rocked to its core.

The general was about to pick up his phone. The one that would activate the full weight of the US military. He stopped when his intelligence rep stepped up to his side, and spoke softly and close to his right ear. He was about to stop a superpower from overreacting, or rather, that was what he hoped he was doing. It was that or he was setting up the world for a planetary scale Pearl Harbor. In the intel business, sometimes you have to roll a hard six.

"Sir, there's four of them. They said that the VIP would have four escorts when it comes in to land on those islands. We assumed that they would travel together, but what if they planned on using assets already in system as escorts? She is a warship with scout ships. Why not have dedicated escorts on board for the warship to use or to help protect the scouts? I think too many people have pigeonholed Type 2 as an old school cruiser. What if she's like one of our supercarriers instead?"

The General turned to make eye contact with the young captain. "Tracking! Get all the data you can on them. Label them Type 4 and possible combat craft." Type 1's were now listed as unarmed scouts, Type 1a's armed scouts, Type 2 the warship, Type 3's the cargo carriers and now Type 4's were fighters. Who knew what a type 5 might end up being. Maybe the label would fall to the VIP craft.

The General had to still make a few phone calls. He wanted to make sure that any military that could put a weapon in orbit knew what the US thought. That the four craft coming their way at a measurable speed of light were most likely the announced escort of the VIP that was to be arriving soon. He would also tell them that he was not sure he was right, and that it was only a guess.

Within a handful of seconds of the announced time, the VIP's ship popped into space in a brief flash of light and energy. The ship that had gone by many names before the Cylon surprise attack, and was now called Colonial One, was in the Sol system for the first time. The hatchet like bow of the ship dropped towards the planet's surface. After lining up, she and the closing formation of Vipers that was her escort started towards the blue planet. It sat very still in high obit for only about ten minutes before her escorts joined up with her.

The quintet made their way lower and lower into the thicker atmosphere. The five spaceships were staying just above the speed of sound, higher at the thinnest parts of the atmosphere, as they moved deeper into gravity well. The airspace at the twenty nautical mile mark from the two islands had been getting thicker and thicker each passing day. It was filling up with what most people would have called spy planes and intelligence ships moving around in slow circles.

* * *

Every country that had aircraft with the range and capabilities had them on station in this section of the ocean. Countries that did not have the long ranged craft tried pulling as many strings as they could. All to get landing rights that were closer so that their craft could keep an eye on these visitors. Some of the normally very poor countries were not above using their location to get every advantage they could from the current situation. Some were looking more short term and others more long term. It was just up to that small local power player to see what they could get. Many did not think about what they might lose.

The Russians had TU-95RT/142 Bear bombers carrying triple crews and staying aloft through inflight refueling. This had to be done on each mission an aircraft flew. The United States had access to bases on Guam and Hawaii, and her aircraft carriers to support her craft. It had the easiest time keeping a presence in the local area. Japan was running every modified E-767 they could keep in the air. The Indian navy had half of its carrier fleet supporting just the surveillance mission. Due to an engine failure however, the INS Vikramaditya was now being towed to New Zealand for some hopefully very quick repairs.

No one knew how long it would take to get the INS Vikrant out of dry-dock back on the sub-continent to replace her. Their fleet had not worked that far from their home country since the 1940's. While that ship was out of commission they had moved both of the nearby satellites and rotated the INS Makar, INS Darshak, and INS Tir to cover for the missing carrier group.

India was not the only country having problems working that far from its home ports. It was support that they had relied on for so many years, if not decades. China herself had lost four of her limited supply of these types of long ranged aircraft. China had never had a lot of that type of aircraft before the strangers arrived. The loss of so many KJ-2000, NATO code name Mainring, and the grounding of the remained eight fielded craft had caused some very public issues for the Chinese. The maydays the four crashing craft had sent had been picked by a few hundred aircraft. Most of the ears that had picked up those distress signals were not military.

The information was quickly passed to the world press by those ears. These reports had sunk any more sales of this expensive craft on the worldwide market. In fact, one of the craft that had crashed had been on a test flight before it was to be handed over to its new owner in Latin America. Now, that country wanted a refund. Then again, it was working quietly behind the scenes to get equal value, in something else. The PLA Air Force was still working on bringing out of mothballs the few shorter ranged prop driven Y-8s they still had. The airframes and systems were old and worn out. They also had not been stored that well to begin with all of those years ago.

The Chinese government had nevertheless rushed some of their shipborne intelligence gathering platforms out of port to fill the void. A small fleet made up of a mix of a few Type 815's, a Type 595 oceanographic surveillance ship, and even a type 645 oceanographic research vessel was now slowly patrolling off the two islands. All to fill in the gap left by the crashed aircraft. Most people were betting that they would stay longer once the plane issues had been worked out. They were doing the job of collecting information on the Aliens. They also were collecting data on the other systems the other countries were deploying to the area to keep an eye on the strangers.

The Chinese also were working their people to death to get two additional projects off the ground. First they were trying to buy more of the needed long ranged and surveillance type of aircraft right off the production lines from other countries. What most people do not know about this type of military craft is that they were ordered years in advance. Even then they were only made by a handful of companies worldwide. They are literally built by hand, one at a time. The largest company might have four or five being built at once. It is not just that the airframe that has to be extensively modified to do the job. The electronics that go into the craft are also almost custom built for a specific tail number of an aircraft in mind. Items were not interchangeable down to the black box level.

With the arrival of these aliens it was now very much a buyers' market. One that exploded within a day of the first scout craft being seen. China had the money but the companies that were the best and quickest at this kind of work were in the UK, France, US, Australia and Russia. All countries that wanted the same type of craft for exactly the same reason the Chinese wanted them. They were not much help to the Chinese, at least not in the timeline the Chinese government wanted. They could not even get SAAB or IAI to bend to their will, not this time. By the time that the Chinese had contacted them, they already had been tasked so hard that they had added all of the work shifts they could. Now it was a case of a bird in the hand, versus a bird in the bush.

Smaller companies were trying to fill the gaps now opened for people that had very deep pockets. Those small companies were only able to work on one airplane at a time. There also were no guarantees on the work or those systems going into the craft. That meant that it would be sometime before the first replacement plane would be able to fly, much less fly their first missions in the middle of the vast Pacific Ocean. It was a long way from a runway that was long enough to let them land on, and that was safe and secure.

Their back up plan was to get the two aircraft carriers in their main fleet out to sea, and out to a location that their combat fleet had never operated in before. The first and oldest ship was on its way out to near the location of the alien paid for islands. This is the second time the old Russian built, but Chinese modified ship had tried to make this same long trip. The first purpose built and home grown Chinese carrier had only launched from her building slip a few weeks before the aliens made themselves known to the whole planet. She would be the largest and most capable ship in the PLA Navy for a while. Right now though, she was just seventy thousand tons of metal.

One of the lesser known facts of the time was that the military build up had already started. As soon as the first scout had been seen over the moon, countries and sometimes only private companies seeing what they thought might be a need for it had started increasing production of weapons. It had started with Russia, then China followed suit, and then it had spread as fast as the planet spun on its axis.

No one had any idea that this was not the start of some kind of space invasion. Money was found to increase the production of what was often referred to as big ticket items. Things like ships, submarines, missiles and the like. These were items that were known to take a long time to make. All were given the green light to have overtime and extra shifts charged to their production. Even easy to make items, like ammunition, had their production increased to as fast as they could be made.

In the few weeks between the first scout being seen and the notice that this planet was not the only place that had life, the numbers of weapons worldwide had started to climb. It did not help that much once the public found out. Guns and ammunition were flying off the shelves in countries that allowed it and in the black markets where it was not legal. That did not stop even when there came to be a shortage on the legal and black market for those items. That shortage showed up in a timeline measured in days, much less weeks following first contact. It got more pronounced when word was released that the aliens were going to speak at the UN.

* * *

The five colonial ships overflew the mass of flying and floating equipment on their way to the north side of Raiatea Island. The Raptors had been ordered to always follow a strict flight path when they came down from high planetary orbit. After so many flights, the path and everything around it had been mapped out by those craft. Everyone knew what areas to avoid. By now they even knew how far the air turbulence went as the craft shed off orbital speed. That had caused a few grey hairs for those crews, who had pushed just a little too close to those small and strangely shaped craft.

The Colonial ships would not drop below thirty thousand meters above the waves until they were less than twenty miles from the pair of islands. They would not drop below six thousand meters until they were over the reef that went around the two islands in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. After crossing that water barrier, the craft just lowered themselves straight down. No one knew how this was done, but it was documented every time a Colonial made ship landed on the island. With every set of images of this happening, more scientists got grey hairs.

One thing that was nice about them staying so high before landing was that this let all of the aircraft and ships take lots of images. Now those same ships and planes were getting a lot of images of the escorts along with the eighty-five meter long and almost fifteen meter wide VIP transport that was coming in for a landing today. Close attention was focused on the six twin weapons turrets affixed around the larger ship. What they had no way of knowing about those weapons turrets was that they had not been there when she left Colonial scouted space so many years ago.

Laura was treated to a low level flyby over both islands, and again she was amazed at the beauty they possessed. She spent a few days sightseeing on those green jewels at ground level, until the day of her appearance at the UN in a place called New York City demanded that she leave. She enjoyed wandering around the main island. It felt like home, but better somehow. The list of power players that had wanted to talk to her first was getting longer by the second. She did not plan on speaking to any of them, but they did not know that.

Right now the major obstacle was the flight plan Kathy had digitally sent to the North American group called FAA. They had rejected all of the ten submissions that she had sent. Laura had to personally ask that Kathy send it one more time, advising that if it was kicked back this time she was to send it to the Space Command General. The one that they had been sending data about their landings to.

That was Laura's only stress point as she was shown around the larger of the two islands. With less than two hundred people on the island, it felt more abandoned rather than a rapidly growing community that was taking shape. Those few hundred people were working as hard as they could to get everything ready for the next phase that had been planned out. It was hard work, but it had some advantages that the other Colonials did not have.

Martin Davis was at that very minute reviewing the emailed latest flight plan from Kathy. He had thought the first few had been jokes, or maybe someone making practice flight plans for their certification. It had happened a few times when those students had sent them on to his office as a mistake. Now he was just getting more pissed at the time he had to waste just reading, then denying each flight plan sent from this one person. This time, when he sent the flight plan back to the email address that had sent it to him, he put a nasty note about what fool thought they could fly a civilian plane at ninety thousand feet, and at Mach 3. He told them to stop wasting his time with this make-believe crap.

It took only about thirty seconds for the email to get back to Kathy, and for her to read it. She had it going to NORAD two seconds later. About five hours later, Mr. Davies was being assigned a new job. One that was not so stressful for his fragile mind to handle and understand. He was union member, so they could not fire him like the head of Space Command had wanted done.

* * *

Henna Clay was fuming at about the same time that Mr. Davis was being told about his new job. She had had her chief of staff send a message to whoever was running the aliens' web site, and copied that email to the law firm. The one that everyone still thought the aliens had sole control of, somehow. This was not the first email to come out of her office, but now she aware that nothing was coming out of those islands in the way of replies.

When there was no response to those last two email contact requests, Henna had sent an email from both of her email accounts. She was sure that the one with the White House name at the end would at least get a reply, or the one with her last name in it. They had to know her name by now, so they should have replied. They were supposed to reply. That was the way the world worked in her eyes.

She was wrong. Her name and title had been put on the list with all the other political leaders who wanted to talk with Laura. Laura had looked at all of them, but had personally directed that no replies be given to any of them. She was going to play this game by her own rules. She had been doing her homework about this planet for some time now. She had planned to put some of those studying hours to good use in the next few weeks.

Henna was looking at her Chief of Staff who had just told her that the human aliens were not taking any meetings before or after the UN visit. She kept a level gaze at the man and her eyes were flashing bits of fire. The Chief of Staff had shown her the list the CIA had compiled. It was a list of every major player that had also requested a private meeting with the head of the aliens. Next to each one was the note on if the meeting had been granted or not. All of those names had a 'no' next to them. That did not seem to matter to his boss.

"Let me get this straight. This person is having a meeting on our soil. The soil of the most powerful nation in the world, and they will not take the time to see me? Me, the elected leader of this same nation? Please explain to me, how this is possible?" Henna was not used to people not wanting to have a private meeting with her. She had not dealt with anything like that since she had been the junior Senator from California.

The Chief of Staff shifted from one foot to the other and he was clearly nervous. "Yes ma'am. That is the feeling we're getting. It is the same for every other country's leaders." He braced himself for the blast he knew was about to hit him dead in the chest.

Henna felt like she had steam coming out of her ears. She had not felt this angry since her husband had been caught cheating on her while in elected office. It was not that he had been cheating on her that had made her mad. It was that the little shit had been caught doing it.

"And what are you doing to correct this oversight on these visitors' part?" She was fighting not to bite her Chief of Staff's head off. She was trying to change how she did a few things. She was starting to have a hard time finding more people who were qualified and would be loyal to her.

"Madam President! There is nothing we can do. It's not uncommon for this sort of thing to happen. Look at the Iranian ambassador's visit to the UN six months ago. He spoke at the UN, and all his people had to do was put a request in with the State Department. It is a rule that you pushed for when you were the Secretary of State." He knew he was on thin ice. Even if every word that had passed his lips were true. With this boss, sometimes that was not enough to keep someone around.

Henna looked cross, and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs General Thomas Rhame made a note to review his resume again. He had grown tired of this job fairly quickly. After the first month the 'newness' had worn off to show him the underlying ugly truth the wonder job offered. His wife would love it if he left and took any other job in the world. She had brought up that even rolling silverware would be better. She had told him that she did not care if it was emptying trash cans in one of the state parks. She just wanted him to get out of there before he was thrown under a bus and possibly wind up in jail. The General reflected that his wife had a more developed sense of what was going to happen politically than he did this time.

Her voice was very flat, and that was not a good sign in the old soldier's mind. It brought him out of his woolgathering that he had slipped into. "I said what are you going to do to fix it? Not try to get out of doing your job." The head of the military was quietly waiting, because he could feel that something was coming towards him very soon. The light at the end of the tunnel was most definitely the oncoming train.

The head of her staff felt his shoulder sag a little, but he did not lose eye contact with his boss. "About the only thing I can do is get you on the top deck of the building. That is where they will be landing their craft the day of the meeting. The Secretary General of the UN will be there, but I could call in a few favors. I should be able to get you there. I could swing to his aide that you be at his side at the time of the landing."

He did another shrug. "That's the best I can do. I was told just before I came in. The head of the EU is going to be standing near the access door to the podium."

Henna looked down at her desk. She wanted to storm around the office. If the White House photographer was not in the office, that was exactly what she would have done. "That's not good enough. Do better!"

She waved her right hand in the air to dismiss the man like he was a wayward child or something. She turned to look at the military ma, next. "I want something on these people. I need a pressure point to push, and to push hard. Now, if you please! I have another meeting." That was as close as she was going to get to saying that she wanted the military to target this group with all of their intelligence gathering skills and equipment.

The General rose from his chair. He did not salute his boss before nodding and turning so that he could exit the room. He knew that she was ending this meeting early, and that she did not have anything on her calendar for at least an hour. He really did not care. He knew she was as well versed in lying as she was in breathing.

He had been given his directive, and now he was going to see what he legally could do. Then he was going to have to find the money to do it. This part made him smile. As long as he was doing something for her, he would be able to get some extra money through her massive political contacts. It would all be 'black money' but he knew already how much he could pad that request. That extra money would be sent to other areas like maintenance. He knew it would not be enough, but it would help no matter how little additional money he could shift around. He was thinking that he might be able to go back to this well a few times before it dried up.

* * *

On the appointed day, the Raptor and two close escorting Vipers lifted off from the airport. The one that now had been turned into a rudimentary space port. After rising to the six thousand meter level, the three ships headed east where the local sky was still very dark. The movement of the three craft were picked up by overhead sensors sitting in orbit. They also were picked up by aircraft flying in a racetrack pattern off the coast of the two islands.

This updated information made it to the operation rooms of NORAD and the Pentagon at about the same time. It was being read by a long list of other high level command centers only a minute or two later. No one could track the three craft all of the way to the east coast of the United States, no matter how hard they tired. The three were moving just way too fast for anyone to be that close. Most could not track them for more than thirty or fifty kilometers after they left the ground clutter behind. Not even the US Air Force could track them at all times.

When the three craft did get close to the West Coast, following to the letter the flight plan they had filed, they were again picked up by the local airborne and ground based systems looking for them. This started another chain of events, that many were worried would end up starting a war with a space faring people.

With the first readings of how fast the alien craft were in the atmosphere of the planet, NASA had rushed to get one of the SR-71's, which it had worked with before, back in the air. Teams had scoured the different museums around the country that had these amazing aircraft on display to find the needed parts. That had not been cheap or easy, but now they had enough parts to last for about a year of limited operation.

She had done only two successful test missions before today. That was going to have to be enough at the express orders of the head of NASA. As soon as the alien craft was detected lifting off from the island, the old bird rushed into the air on twin tails of flame and sound. Soon she was clawing her way up into the cold thin air over the west coast of the continent she had been built on so many decades ago.

Racetrack picked up the Blackbird on her DRADIS without any issues, but her radar was having problems keeping a lock on it for some reason. It took her updated threat warbook computer a whole thirty seconds to work out that she was picking up what the locals called an SR-71 long range reconnaissance aircraft. It was listed as the fastest jet aircraft on this planet, and it was fitted with some stealth capabilities. The craft was a spy plane to its very bones.

Racetrack did some mental gymnastics. She quickly worked out that the high flying spy plane was trying to pace them instead of intercept them. The fact that the craft was listed as unarmed and that it was pacing the Raptor was okay. That did not mean she could not play games with them. With a sly grin she came up with an idea.

After running the idea past the Admiral who just happened to be sitting in the back of her craft, she slowed her Raptor down and lowered its altitude three thousand meters. She let the arrow shaped black jet catch up to them. She even let it get within a few kilometers of them, before slowly adding power to her engines again. She had read about the top speed of this craft, but frankly she had not seen any craft on earth flying at anything close to that speed and height. She had found out that a lot of times, the published experts could be very wrong about a military craft's capabilities. That had been true back home, and she found that it was true on this planet.

Until now, that is. She did not start to pull away from the black jet until she was going three and a half times the speed of sound. That was just point five of a Mach number from the normal cruising speed of a Raptor in an atmosphere and at its current payload as set before the 2nd Cylon war. Racetrack was very impressed with what the craft had proven to her. That she was not all talk and smoke and mirrors. The Blackbird had legs and lungs just as they had written so many books about. She lost contact with the black jet somewhere over the middle of the country. By then, the jet had dropped so far behind her, even the DRADIS could not see it anymore.

Racetrack followed her flight plan to the letter after that distraction and avoided passing nearby major cities. She even went out over the other ocean before dropping altitude and speed so that she was subsonic as she approached the large sea side city. The three craft were moving very slowly not long after crossing the coast, again. She was moving so slowly that news helicopters and even drones could keep pace with them. They kept a respectable distance until they entered the restricted airspace of the UN building.

The Raptor and twin Viper escort come to a hover, and then slowly started lowering themselves down to the building. They finally stopped on the newly reinforced landing pad on top of the building. The United States government had paid for the renovation of this landing pad a few years ago. The modifications were intended to allow it to support two VIP MV-22s that had come online as part of the President's transportation fleet. That was a lot of weight to support, so the helipad had been rebuilt and modified so that the craft would not end up on the first floor after an express ride.

No one in or on the building had any idea if it would be strong enough to hold the three alien flying craft. They did not have any or more than very little frame of reference to guess what the mass of those three craft might be. That caused a lot of worrying among a growing list of people, who worked or supported the building. Having a window was nice, but most people preferred to have glass between them and the night air.

What they did not know, was that Kathy had looked up the specs some time ago. She knew that the landing pad was up to the task, but that was because she knew the mass of all three craft and passengers down to the last kilogram. That is unless they had enough VIP's waiting up there to see the strangers land to throw her numbers off. It was also the reason that there were only two Vipers instead of four to escort the passengers to this meeting.

The whole world got to see Vipers and Raptors for the first time in action, and in HD. It was an impressive sight to behold for people who had never seen their like before. The three craft landed in a wedge formation with the Raptor at the point. It was also the closest area to the red carpet that had been put out for them. The three craft landed without a sound as their grav plating took their mass and lowered them to the top of the building. The whole event was covered by a dozen press people backed up by half a dozen bright lights affixed to shoulder mounted cameras. These images would be copied and reviewed by many different types of people around the world.

When the hatch to the Raptor opened for the first time, it was not a leader that exited the craft. It was a pair of Colonial marines. They exited the craft, walked down the wing and did the short hop to reach the landing pad. They would stand on either side of the wing and be the outside guards. Next to exit was Laura, followed by Bill Adama after she had taken about two steps. Laura was the lead and greeted the head of the UN who was waiting for them. She did the greeting in her language, and this dumbfounded the head of the UN. Laura made a point to ignore anyone else after shaking hands with the UN Secretary General.

Tory, Bill, and one of Laura's own Presidential Security Service agents in nonmilitary clothing supplied by Captain Kelly all walked with her deeper into the massive building through the throng of world leaders. The rest of the Colonials stayed on the roof with their way home. Laura gave a thirty minute speech in native Caprican, but used the large translation computer that Captain Kelly had used when they were first starting to work together. It would translate her Caprican into perfect English easily enough after all of these years of working between the two languages. It was decided some time ago that it was not her problem for the different translators to convert English into whatever was needed to understand what she was saying.

In her speech, she covered the topic of the Cylons being AIs and went into some detail about how they nuclear carpet bombed their twelve home planets. She talked about how they wanted to destroy all humans, wherever they found them. She talked about the many years they spent on the run from them, and the hardships they had to endure on the trek. She let the world know that the Sol systems, its planets, and what it contained were theirs. The Colonials just wanted to be good neighbors with this branch of humankind.

She told them that her people would not mine or build on any orbiting body in this system. At least not without going through the proper legal channels with the legal owners. She did not go deeply into what legal channels could be in place because there were no legal channels right now that this planet used. She told them about the islands that she had ordered bought and where they were. They were told that it was the sovereign territory of the Colonies of Kobol. It was just like Cuba or any other island country on the planet. She asked that the governments of the world give them a little more time to set up after such a long trip. This was not going to be a short stay on this planet for her people.

Laura told them that starting in less than fourth-eight hours, contact would be made with a list of different companies from around the world. It would be to deliver items that the rest of her people needed to the twin islands. She told everyone that was there in front of her, or watching on the news channels broadcasting live to the world, that right now, almost all of the items they were going to order and would be buying was going to support the two islands. To help in setting them up for of her people.

It was going to make the islands better suited to supporting more of her people who would be moving to the islands soon. She also told them that her people would soon start buying items on the open market to support the two worlds and other mining outposts they had set up already in other star systems. The big shocker was when she told them that they would first be using precious metals to pay for the items that they needed.

As soon as those words left her mouth, and were converted into English, the prices of those metals went down significantly within a few minutes in the worldwide market. No one knew how much of those items these strangers had on hand. Still they would be adding material to the worldwide market. When word of the aliens had arrived the demand for those metals had driven the price ever higher. Past all previous records. Price after all is driven by two things. One was the demand and the other was knowing how much supply was available to fill that demand.

After she finished her speech, Laura simply turned from the camera and walked from the room with the little computer under her arm. She and the other members of her group were not letting on that they spoke, our even understood English. She wanted the mass population of Earth to work out how to translate between them. You would be amazed what people say when they did not know that they were being understood.

Her and Bill's written orders were that all communication between the people of this planet and them, all would be done with one of the Rifters' translation computers, or via written text sent electronically. She handed out printed notes to each of a dozen leaders with times set for a video conference. The notes were sealed so that only the person who opened them would know the dates and times set for them. It also contained a note about how to contact one of her people and stated that the conference would be in English. For her part, she was not taking any questions, or public meetings right then and after the fourth or fifth request for the same thing she was getting a little tired of games.

What the leaders of the world did not know was that Kathy was working on setting up three of the largest news organizations to be the first in the video meeting lineup. They would be starting in an hour aboard the Raptor as it flew back to the Colonial owned islands. Racetrack was hoping to see the high flying fast jet again, but it did not rise to meet them on the way home. She had worked out a nice little race to see if the jet had speed, height, and could do some more aggressive maneuvers. She had been looking longingly at the systems, hopping to see the little blip again. The nearest that came as a challenge were a few slower and lower flying F-15 Eagles and F-22 Raptors. She had left them in her dust. They had tried, but they were not up to the task to playing with a real Raptor.

She had no idea that the jet she wanted to see again had only just been able to make an emergency landing in Ohio. The pilot had pushed his handbuilt and tuned pair of J58 engines as hard as his years of experience told him he could. If he had a little more fuel, he could have coasted his craft all the way across the wide part of the country and land at its planned east coast base. The retired colonel had pushed the massively powerful hand built twin engines for every bit of power he could get out of them and then some. That is, right up until they decided to eat themselves due to the stress he had put on to them. He had to fight the coffin's corner until he reached thicker air.

Years later, when his flight is declassified, he would be listed as the fastest Earth born person in a totally local made craft. That record would only last for eighteen months on the books, but it would let him publish a book about his life story. It was a very detailed report of his last few missions in that old but great airplane. It also told about how that mission was paid for. That information did not go over so well in a few different circles. The general population did not have any issues with it but some people on either end of the spectrum did.

The web site Kathy had set up weeks ago was flooded by hits within minutes of Roslin finishing her speech. While Laura had been talking, a transcript of her planned speech was uploaded as well as a short and slightly more detailed history of the Colonials and Cylons. More information would be added as the day went on. By the end of the local day on the islands, she had even put up information about the Cylon and Colonial religions. It did not take long for this information to be mirrored on half a dozen different websites around the world.

* * *

Charles Bellamy checked his email every five minutes. When he received the one he had been waiting for from Kathy, he used his special computer to access the global network. He put the first order out for items that were on his list today. The list of items that he had reviewed maybe a dozen times before it ended up the way it looked today.

The first items were the elements he needed to make high strength concrete. It was to be used for finishing the landing area at the space port, and a growing list of other areas around the islands. Then he ordered a small batch of different types of steel and food items. The total mass came to just under six hundred tons of items and cargo. He had not been that worried about mass but he wanted to keep the first order to below a thousand tons of cargo.

The first real issue came up when he only wanted to pay on delivery. The second issue was that they could not land on the runway on Raiatea, but could only come in via a small ship. They were going to have to fly the stuff to Tahiti and then ship by boat for the almost three hundred kilometer trip out to them. Shipping was going to cost more than what he was paying for the items in some cases. He was thinking that it was going to be an issue in the near future, but he was going to have to deal with it for now.

The locals had no way to know it, but that area of the world once labeled as sleepy was about to become one of the major centers of trade in the world. It was going to take some time, but it was going to be apparent to a lot of people that some things were about to change again. All of those billions of dollars dumped into the local economy was only the first wave of change, but it was enough to give the locals a leg up over the many latecomers to the area.

It would take a week for the materials to make the over three thousand kilometer trip from Hawaii to the nearest large island. What they did not know was that the CIA saw this problem coming some time ago, even before aliens showed up. They had used one of their many front companies to buy a ship called the West Pac Express. This was a high speed, low draft, fifteen hundred ton vessel. It was a ship that would make a great and cheap way to deliver cargos to any small port in the local island chains. Like a set of islands that the owners did not want large airplanes visiting among other restrictions that were common in certain parts of the world.

The ship's parent company had posted to the different shipping companies around Hawaii that it was planning a high speed run, and it was planning on going in a certain direction. After it had completed some maintenance, it would be ready to take cargo. When a little bird told the front company that the orders had been sent from a certain area, the West Pac Express was all of a sudden ready to load cargo going that way. It also helped that they were charging about ten percent less than anyone else within almost five thousand kilometers.

That was enough for most companies to choose them. This sale was risky enough that those companies wanted to save every penny they could. When asked about the cheap rates, the shipping company simply said that the ship was heading that way empty. Any cargo just made it so they could break even. It was a lie, but it was one that many would believe. That is, if those shipping companies did not look too closely at a few things.

Less than twenty-four hours after the orders were placed, the fast little twin hulled ship was cruising at over twenty knots towards Tahiti with the full load of ordered items. Hawaii was a major port and shipping hub. Everything that had been ordered was not exotic, or if it was, in small enough lots that many places had it on hand. The small cargo ship was going to have to stop at Tahiti for refueling and passenger pickup before it could make its required drop off of cargo. Only about a third of the current twenty-three person crew worked directly and knowingly for the CIA. All of them knew their jobs around a ship with a high degree of skill. They all also knew how to keep their mouths shut no matter how great shore leave might be.

Bellamy did not place any more new orders until the first ones were in his hands. As word spread, companies were soon contacting him with suggestions of items his people might need or want. They would supply lists complete with prices. When he replied to those communications, they were not happy with payment on delivery, and they were not willing to do that. At least, that was according to their public statements.

The different companies that were supporting the first supply run were taking a risk. Each company had sent two people to collect the payment from Bellamy in person. These were small deals in comparison to what they were used to making. These were about to become the first Terrains to be allowed on the island since the Colonial ships landed. That bit of fact could be leveraged in any future advertisements by these companies, if things worked out. Lots of images were to be taken, and they would be posted to the global network using the mobile connection provided by the ship. Most of the PR and legal departments had briefed their people before being picked up at Tahiti.

When the fast cargo ship was about a hundred nautical miles out from the Colonial controlled islands, the captain of the vessel had received an email with directions on where to make its port call. With the notes they were sent, overhead images, and the GPS working, the little ship should be able to make it through the reef, and all the way to the old Sun Sail marina. All without anyone getting any more grey hair in the process.

The marina had a long and wide dock that was usable by the roll on/roll off cargo ship. All the ship had to do was line up on the dock and let the cargo roll off straight onto the limited road network on the bigger of the two islands. These were the directions given to the ship, and that was what the ship's first mate passed along to the world wide data base that dealt with harbors and delivery rules around the world. This was normal procedure for a first mate to do when visiting a low use port. It would help other crews learn from any mistakes.

The only problem that came up was when the little cargo ship entered the protected waters of the lagoon. That was when two armed Raptors had to be scrambled from the landing field. The West Pac Express had been listening in on the radio when the warning was sent out for a few of the deck hands.

These two craft went to do a high speed intercept of a vessel. It had been spotted trying to get close to the southernmost point of the two islands. It had not responded to hails sent out from the island. When the small boat was only six kilometers from the reef, the two craft paid it a few high speed and very low altitude visits. No one would know who had been in control of the mid-sized vessel, but someone fired at the small spaceships with a PKM class machine gun. That was not the smartest move they could have done. The smartest move would have been to flee when they were warned to leave the area.

Everything had been going just like it had over the last few weeks. The Colonials had done this a dozen times before today. This time though, the Hatteras 70 motor yacht would not turn away. When the Raptor went to line up for a warning shot across the bow of the speeding vessel, someone leaned out from under the overhang covering the vessel's helm and fired a long burst of 7.62mm rounds into the now slow moving Colonial Raptors about a hundred meters off the port bow.

The stitch of impacts went across the armored glass of the craft but did no more damage than if the craft had run into a mass of bees at high speed. The two Colonial rockets that came from the pair of top mounted external rocket launcher racks on each of the two craft had a more visible affect. It had been a conditioned reflex on the part of the pilots. The attack had happened too quickly for them to stop the automatic reaction to defend themselves from the attack.

The rockets were simple things, not even upgraded with Cylon inspired guidance systems. The pilot should have fired rockets from a different pod. Like the under-wing pod that carried guided weapons but the reaction had almost no conscious thought to it. In all of their training, they only had used the dumb easily replaced unguided rockets.

All four rockets hit the small water craft at that range. They did not even spread out that much, so all four hit at or near the water line and towards the bow of the vessel. The well maintained vessel was blown into toothpick sized parts in a movie style flash and explosion. All of it was caught on Raptors' systems, and recorded in very vivid detail. By the time last of the boat was floating down from its boost into the air five minutes later, the pair of Raptors were landing again.

After some review, and approval by Bellamy, the recording was posted on the island main website with a flashing header. In a few hours, it was making rounds on all of the major news channels under the headline, 'Colonial Outpost Attacked!'

Most of the crew of the ferry did not notice anything and did not have a frame of reference to know if something was wrong or not. The only thing that was a little out of the ordinary for this group was when a group of armed and armored troopers boarded the blue and white painted ship. It had happened when the ship had docked to the southernmost pier, as soon as the lines were attached and the main offloading hatch had opened. They did a quick, but complete search of the ship from top to bottom and left to right. None of the ship's crew heard the explosions at the other end of the island over the ship's engines and the sounds of waves lapping against the hull or jetty the ship was tied to. It was just another day at the office.

Bellamy was there with his own set of guards and a portable computer that had internet access when the inspectors he had sent on to the ship finished with their task. The first items off the ship had been the pallet mounted Hesco containers filled with various colored dirt and minerals. Those pallets contents would be mixed into high damage resistant concrete. Both islands had been searched, but the needed raw materials had simply not been found. This was not looked at as a bad thing by the leadership of the Colonials. It made the starting point of trade that much easier. Plus it would help the locals to know somewhat what was needed to get them on the road to being able to defend themselves from any Cylon attack.

Each pallet was first tested, and then moved off the ships and on to the pier by a large heavy duty forklift the ship had carried. One of the CIA's best language people was working as a deckhand today. Up until today he had not believed that his hobby of reading old Greek plays, in the original language, would ever come in handy. He was not able to pick up much at first. After about half hour though, he was picking up about one word in ten. By the end of the day, he would say that he could understand about one in five as long as they were not too technical. That was more than enough information to write and file his report about.

After the entirety of the first of the three groups of people had finished off loading its charted cargo, everyone found a reason to be close by for what was going to happen next. Bellamy, who had been talking in Caprican the whole time, opened his metal case. He asked in what metal would the provider want to be paid in. Bellamy told them through the translation computer that he had one ounce rounds or disks made of Indium, Rhenium, Palladium, Osmium, Iridium, Ruthenium, Platinum, Rhodium, Gold and Silver.

The seller was able to check the current exchange rates for each of the metals and decided to take some of the Gold and Platinum rounds to settle the bill. His boss was going to be a very happy person when he made it back to the home office. This was his only thought as he re-boarded the vessel. Now the next group could take care of their business today. The first man was getting a lot of pats on the back from everyone. He would go down as the first person to sell their products to people that had not been born on this planet. Who, just as advertised, paid their debts, and paid them in gold coins.

Next to be offloaded were the food items and books that had been ordered. These were simpler to transfer because each one did not have to be checked or tested before being offloaded. Bellamy or one of his people only had to check against a master list before letting them be offloaded to the pier. The seller was not as happy with the outcome of his transaction when it was found out in front of the whole gathering that some items were missing or in smaller numbers than had been ordered. It had not been by much, but Bellamy was not going to pay for items that were not there on his dock.

After almost an hour, things were settled. Then the seller got another bad surprise. He was fined two percent of the total sales for not meeting contract terms. He started to get upset, but stopped when Bellamy told him that normally under their laws, he could have been fined ten percent of the total including shipping costs. When the seller tried to say that no such law could possibly exist, Bellamy merely told him that they were his people's law and his people's laws ruled on these islands. If he did not like it, then he could take his whole shipment back.

It would not take long for news of this to race around the business world. This would be marked down as the first warning to not frak with the Colonies of Kobol when making deals with them. The second seller was on the line with his bosses not long after he had completed this transaction. He was not having an enjoyable meeting over the sat phone.

The last to unload from the cargo ship were the metal samples. This was both easier to deal with and longer to get done with. The samples were marked, but moving the massive weight off of the ship took some time with the limited equipment the Colonials had on hand to work with. The person in charge of selling the items was the first one not to take payment in gold or silver, but in a broad mix of different metals that could be resold on the open market.

The ship was in port for only four hours in total before it was backed out and off the wood and stone pier. The Captain of the twin hulled ship was called down to the loading ramp just before it started to rise and make a water tight lock. This was when everyone who had been selling to the Colonials was told about the incident at the south part of the island. Captain Beattie would not let the rest of the vessel know what happened until they had left the reef protected islands. It had happened in the past and was not worth getting some of his crew worried over.

Captain Beattie now wished that he had some heavy weapons on board his ship. When he returned to his bridge, he sent a message to get started on the paperwork. That way he could have some self-defense weapons if he made another trip out here. He had worked off both coast of Africa and Indonesia for a few years. He knew the drill, and even had a lot of the paper work pre-filled out sitting in a folder on his office computer desktop. It was not needed until now, and he reckoned it was time to find out if these human aliens knew the same drill. He sent a copy of the paperwork to the email address that had given him the direction on docking.

After his ship had left the confines of the lagoon and was again in open water, the captain decided at the last minute to wait. He was going to wait until they were at the twenty nautical mile limit to tell the crew about the incident earlier in the day. It was only an hour or so delay, and it would give the crew time to celebrate a little before the bad news about the pirates ruined the otherwise festive mood.

The Captain made a shipwide announcement as intended, and as he had expected the news set his crew and passengers on edge. Captain Beattie had this crew set to keep a watch out for any additional trouble just in case. Water cannons were not much good against machine guns, but it was what they had right now. He was hoping that if they did come back, they would have a little more effective defense options.

He also called each of the chartered sellers to the bridge. It was time to settle his part of the bill. The reason his ship had been picked was that not only was he the cheapest, he also did not need or want payment until after the sellers' deals were done. It was advertised as such just in case the deal fell through. Then the sellers would not be out the money for the shipping.

It was an odd arrangement but he was backed by an intelligence agency even if the sellers did not know it. So they were not that worried about paying any shareholders around the world if things went sideways. The sellers had estimated the shipping costs when they had made each of their deals. If the shipping price was lower that was just more money in their pockets. That would not always be the case as they gained more experience.

Now with all of the sales now complete, the Captain asked each of the three how they would like to settle their bills. This was not done in a group setting, but one on one, and in the privacy of his office. Each of the sellers had the same plan on how they would pay the bill that was due. They all intended to use an electronic bank transfer to the front company's bank account, to be processed when they made port in Tahiti. This had to be done before they were allowed to leave the island on the airplane that would fly them back to Hawaii. They would have to let the local harbor master know when they had settled up their bills.

It was how this country worked and the practice was very common around the world in less developed ports. The West Pac Express would be taking on fuel again and making a very high speed run back to its home port. She would be able to travel faster and still use less fuel than on the run out this direction. If things worked out as well as they were looking, the long range plans that the captain was going to be forwarding to his bosses would be interesting.

The general idea was that he wanted to stay close to the Colonials. He wanted to be the one to run the supplies they were buying from Tahiti to Raiatea, as often as they needed it. Now with only his crew on the boat, the CIA agents could prepare their reports. All had to be done and submitted before they reached US controlled territory.

They would be coded and buried in emails that were sent via a civilian communication satellite sitting high over the planet's equator. The language expert had the longest report to prepare. He reported that, yes it was basically Greek, if somewhat archaic, with some Latin thrown into the mix. It also had some different words that he had not been able to localize yet. It also had words from some unknown source languages in common use. The eyecatchers were a few odd North American English sounding words also used by them.


	23. Chapter 23 It's About to Get Complicated

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 23 It's About to Get Complicated**

Earth Early May 2018

While the West Pac Express was only halfway through the return trip to its home port in Hawaii, another wave of buys was being made from the two islands. Word had gotten out that yes, the aliens would pay when the items were delivered and that sellers got to choose what physical form the payment would take. Not only that, there was no need to worry about the payments being in some kind of currency that would be a pain to convert outside a major banking facility. Now, more and more companies were accepting the conditions offered by the Colonials. It did not matter that the offload time had put it on Sunday for where most of the companies were based out of. Now, no one was taking that day off. Not this week.

This caused a rush of emails and phone calls to the operators for the West Pac Express. She quickly was being contacted as the ship of choice. These emails had started before the ship's captain could even send his idea up the food chain. When his plan was sent, it just put some finer points on what the bosses were already working on. It was going to be a quick turnaround for the ship after it got back to port in Hawaii.

One would have think that when she returned to port what her crew had done and accomplished would make at least some national news. Nothing of the sort happened. To the people in the local area, it was just an oddly shaped little ship about to enter a busy harbor that supported the true giants of the ocean. Something the size of a late world war two destroyer could not compare to ships that were larger and massed more than a fully loaded modern supercarrier.

Just before the West Pac Express made it back to its registered home port, the Colonial VIP ship lifted off from the islands with its four escorts flying close around her. No sooner had it left than it was quickly replaced by a completely different looking spaceship. The released name of the space freighter caused some ripples around the world. Web based research companies reported that the most popular searches for the next two weeks had been about Greek and Roman gods from the past. Every university on the planet had to make plans to expand their programs in order to even come close to meeting the demands for anything to do with the ancient world. Some of the quicker off the mark schools started looking at how to start teaching a new language. It would take time, but they were already looking at adding whole new degree programs at all the normal levels.

The news of the Colonial VIP ship leaving the planet was quickly followed by a middle eastern religious sect claiming to have planned the attack that the Raptors were recorded to have stopped. The reason given for the attack? They were claiming that the Colonials had no souls, all because they had not been born on Earth. If they were not born on this planet, then they were not born under the eyes of their god. The Middle East was starting to burn again, as more and more groups and even the odd country started calling for attacks on the newcomers. References were made to the visitors having spoken English at the UN. This was proof that must be aligned with the Great Satan, somehow. The Friday prayers were going to cause some issues.

When the West Pac Express made port, she had to do her maintenance and health inspections along with refueling her tanks for another high speed run south. She had to do everything very quickly, as more cargo was loaded into her small cargo hold. One would be surprised how quickly six hundred tons of cargo space could be filled with what six thousand square meters of floor space could hold. For the first time in many years, she was going on back to back long range trips with a cargo bay full of stuff that would not raise an eyebrow.

The last time she had done anything like this was when she had been charted to support the US Marines years ago. Nothing like this had been done since then. Not after the Agency had taken over ownership of the vessel. Not even when she had been running supplies to help with disaster relief.

While the ship was being tied down, its master received an electronic notification. One that the captain had deep down not expected to receive, at least not this quickly. It said that he could mount or carry weapons on the next cargo run to the island. He had mixed feelings on the notice when he read it. From the reports his bosses were sending him a few times a day, he wanted the weapons, but he also did not want to risk the attention the word that she was packing heat would generate when it got out. There were not that many ships that were going to be packing this much heat. He was about to have at his fingertips enough to start a small war.

After some review of a dozen different reports, and the notes section on the email for the Colonials on the pair of islands, Beattie reached out to a few contacts that were on speed dial. Within a few hours of making some calls he had two fully tricked out 50 caliber rifles, a few dozen fully automatic 5.56mm carbines, and one AT-4 unguided anti-tank rocket. The last item he planned to keep in his room off of the small ship's bridge for safekeeping.

The rules that the Colonials had sent him said that he would have to lock the weapons up. Given the fact that he was carrying weapons, he was resigned to being inspected before they let him into the lagoon. This would be the new normal as long as his ship was listed as being armed. His ship was already fitted out to work with these weapons. That was because the rules were very much like what he had worked under when he put into Mombasa with Red Cross supplies ten months ago. He made a note to send to his boss a short message about how close the rules were. It would seem that these new visitors had done a lot of homework.

* * *

Back at the two islands, they now had a population of three hundred, not counting the dozen or so locals that had not left the islands. That number would grow when the next ship showed up on the schedule that Bill Adama had put together. After letting its crew and passengers stay on the green islands for up to a month, most of them were going to have to re-board this or another spacecraft to take them home again.

When the ship lifted off once more, the number of people left on the islands would be a little over thousand in a mix of Colonials and Rift Earthers. The cargo/passenger liner also dropped off a few ground vehicles cross loaded from one of Captain Kelly's ships. It also left behind a handmade portable support bay for Vipers, to be put together from disassembled parts carried in her cargo hold. The support structure would be put together in one of the hangars now no longer needed by the modified airport. Bellamy and Adama did not want too many eyes seeing the support bay just yet.

The Admiral had to get back to the rest of fleet so he took a Raptor back, leaving his flagship behind. The second cargo ship would be escorted back to the fleet by the flagship when it left this blue planet as planned. Even before the incident with the large fishing boat, it had already been decided to move forward the deployment of a flight of four Vipers to the planet's surface. This would add to the Raptors already operating from the island. All that was needed was a proper place to support their maintenance needs. There was no shortage of volunteers for the task to pilot and maintain the birds from the Colonial Fleet. The hard part would be rotating the crews out so that it did not cause an issue of some kind down the line.

With the success of the first trading mission, Bellamy went into full blown buying mode. The former residents had left lots of items on the islands that could be useful to the new owners. There were bicycles, motorcycles of several different sizes, cars and vans. Some of them were even still in working order but most were not. There were even a few boats left around the two islands. All of the boats were not safe to use. Some had floated out into the lagoon and sunk. Most of them were to be left where they had sunk to help the reef expand.

With the number of people arriving however, places to stay were needed. It was paradise to live in but people needed shelter no matter how nice the area might look like most of the time. Temporary rooms were set up at the airport. For people who had been living in ships for years, it was not too bad of a living area. It was even an upgrade for most of them. Even then, things needed to change if people were going to live there long term.

The first items that needed to be brought into the islands were things to be used in fixing some of the local homes. They were going to start with the homes nearest the airfield. The ones closest to the areas where the majority of the work to support their people was being done. Those repaired homes were going to support all of the newly arriving and current Colonials.

With this in mind, Charles went online and purchased those items that he had been told were needed to start bringing these structures into a borderline habitable condition. They had two stages they were looking to divide the work into. Stage one was to get some homes habitable. The other stage was to get them all the way up to a reasonable safety standard.

What did that mean? It meant that he had to order lots of little things in bulk. It took hours to get the list put together for all of the things this one type of project was going to need.

The company he made the purchase through decided that it was just simpler and faster to close one of its large home improvement big-box stores on the island of Omaha. Almost the whole store was boxed up, and all the items shipped out in a few large shipping containers. Charles, in fact, had Boxey look up what one of those stores was supposed to have on hand and he had ordered accordingly. That was why the big-box store employees packed up everything in the store that was not a plant. For a while, a few of them were worried that their jobs were at risk.

Some might have asked why the aliens would want cut wood products, being that they were from space. The simple answer to that was that Charles did not want to take the time. It also would start using the limited supply of that item on the two small islands, and they would have to make the sawmill out of spare parts. Both of these things did not appeal to the ranking Colonial Fleet officer on the island.

The increase in the population of the island also dictated that Charles order more and more food as well as other building supplies with each addition. Along with the building supplies he and his people required, he also needed heavy equipment to utilize or move those and the other supplies around the island. Those last types of items were not for sale. At least in the terms he had offered to buy them under. So he sent a request for help to Ashly, Warner and Thomas. It was up to them to handle working those contracts, that was too hard for him to do. This was not his preferred method because the idea of paying the law firm almost an ounce of gold a billable hour hurt his soul.

It had already been decided that the personnel transportation around the two islands was going to be done by large electric carts or similarly powered cars. They had electricity to spare and the supporting system could be scaled up very quickly. They did not want to import other fuel types if they did not have to.

The West Pac Express left the Hawaiian port a few days after it had tidied up. It was not carrying a full load of cargo for the meantime. She was going to make the seven day run to Tahiti first. That was going to be her new home port.

How long was this going to be? Her Captain did not have any idea. This was new territory for both him and his front office. At this new location, this ship could make a very high speed run along the two hundred kilometer plus route to Raiatea Island. If the weather was nice and the sea not running high, the twin hulled ship could even carry a little more cargo than her six hundred ton limit normally dictated.

Tahiti had been the economic and political center of what was often referred to as French Polynesia even before the Aliens bought the two nearby islands. It grew some more with the sudden influx of money over the last few months. It was still growing, as more and more cargo looked too be shipped into the area. This was where Captain Beattie was going to pick up the rest of his cargo, and the half dozen people who were going to be accepting payment for this cargo run. Not only would they be picking up those items, the captain was also going to have a large vault-like fire safe welded to the deck on his bridge. It was coming out of an old jewelry store on the island.

* * *

Meanwhile the intelligence agencies from all over the world were doing their best to keep a close eye on the reef surrounded islands. Satellites took images as fast and as often as they could whenever the orbits were aligned. It was soon the most imaged few square kilometers in the world. That did not necessarily mean that they knew what was going on, but they could see something was changing on those two small patches of green.

The Director of the DIA was looking at a very detailed image projected on a wall that made the current image twenty feet wide and the same dimension tall. Someone of her rank would normally be sitting at the table while someone else did the talking. The current head of the DIA had come up through the ranks though, and she had been very good at her job. Now her job was not to be an analyst anymore. It did not mean that she could no longer whistle the tone.

She made a face as she touched the image on the wall. "Okay? What am I supposed to be looking at?" She turned and shot a look to the half dozen imagery analysts standing around the larger room.

The head analyst was a forty something ex-army enlisted man. If there was one thing that could be said about him, it was that rank did not scare him. He hit the remote and the image changed. "This is the island airfield. I would not call it an airport, unless you're from a very small town. This image was pulled from a commercial data base. The image is a few years old, but it was taken not long after the last expansion of the runway was done. That is why it's so bright, the concrete has not had time to discolor."

The image was in black and white, but it was a very good image rated at about five meters per pixel. Then the image changed again. It was still a black and white image, but you could tell something had changed.

"This image was taken only a few days after the new owners had landed. This is a new facility." He stopped talking, and put a green dot on the image to highlight what he was talking about.

"This is new, and it took us some time to work out what it might be. It's a concrete mixing plant, about as normal you can get. What we did not know was why. That is, until they covered enough of the tarmac for us to be sure. They ended up recoating the old tarmac and down the complete length of the runway with a new top coat. We have no idea how thick and for what purpose they recased that area."

The briefer stopped talking and the image changed again. This one had more color than the other two images. "With this image, you can see that they have the plant in operation again. This area is where they have stored the odd ores and minerals they ordered. They are still in the Hesco containers they arrived in. They seem to be using them as additives to mix in with the local sand and rock. They are putting another layer down. Now, we know that they are going to turn the airfield into a landing area for space craft. We checked in with NASA when we came up with that idea. They told us that the runway the old shuttle used to land at was sixteen inches thick. That was for a mostly empty orbiter smaller than the Type 5 VIP craft the aliens used. They used a lot of other big words, but that is what we think it might be."

The head of the DIA turned snake quick to look at who was talking. "There is no way they are putting something that thick down. We would see forms and the drainage modification would not be negligible. Plus, we have not seen any heavy equipment. Stone and sand, much less wet sand in that amount is not light."

Heads were nodding as their boss said things, which they all knew already. The briefer got a little sly. "Yes, so it has to be stronger than anything we know of...by a good bit."

Now there Boss was looking at them wide eyes. "Do you know how they are making it?"

Making high strength concrete was a lot like baking a cake. There were more ways to make it wrong than there were ways to make it the right way. One had to know not only what to make it with but also when to add specific items and in the what amounts. That did not even cover the right temperature and humidity, and a half a hundred other things. All that could and would go wrong when dealing with the stuff.

The briefer gave his boss the MI salute with a shrug of his shoulders. "Not exactly, but thanks to our friends over at Langley, we know what and how much they had to import to make what they are using. All we will need to do is watch how much they are going to pour until they run out of whatever they're using. It won't be a perfect measurement, but it'll give us a starting point to run some numbers against."

The head of the DIA did not smile. She only nodded. "I look forward to seeing that report. Now, what about the other hot spots that I asked about?"

This was only the start of the briefing for today. She would spend half the day in various meetings and reading intelligence estimates about a hundred different topics. It was just another day in the life as the head of DIA. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. The alien like humans, they just added one more problem she had to keep an eye on.

* * *

In the space of only another week, Charles spent over a hundred million US dollars on short and long lead items. It would not all arrive at once but over a long period of time. It would seem that Tahiti was going to have a windfall in harbor and airport landing fees over the next few months. It would take months for some of these items to come in. And still more orders were going out. All with payment on delivery attachment, and at about a dozen new orders every day.

Money was flowing out of the island and filling the pockets of a growing number of businesses large and small from all around the world. It was not a lot when compared to the whole world's GDP. Still, they were adding to the billions that the Colonials had spent already.

* * *

Captain Beattie turned his ship around to head back on another mission four days after tying up to the dock in Hawaii. His ship was not carrying a full load of cargo this time. He was making the twenty-three hundred nautical mile run and would top off at Tahiti. After that, he would make the run with the same crew that made the first one. The CIA would be paying the crews a bonus because they had been ordered to move quicker than normal. Still, they would have four days off on the resort island before they made the ten dozen nautical mile run to the alien controlled island.

It was a seven day run to Tahiti, and one that was done at speed. This burned a lot of fuel but this time the tab was being picked up by someone other than the front office. After the ship moored at the port of Papeete, her captain had had to leave the ship all of the sudden. He had an appointment at the new forward office that his bosses had just set up. This was going to be his ship's new home port for who knew how long. The Company wanted to have a closer office to the newest area that was generating so much upheaval.

The building was small and looked like most of the rest of Ave Du Prince Hinoi. It was just down the street from a small hotel that had two whole floors rented out to act as the home base for the small ship and its crew. Soon it would also hold a few relief crewmembers that the ship would need. All of that cost had been picked up by the intelligence agency.

The new office was very small and smelled of fresh paint. No one knows how long it was going to be there, and it might have to close down as fast as it had been set up. That would not have been the first time something like that had happened, and it would happen again.

Stephen Beattie stopped as soon as the door closed behind him. He let the cool air-conditioned air wash over him like a wave of cool water. This also let the first two people sitting at the closest desks see him. After he gave the short pass code, their hands returned to the desk tops and away from the concealed weapons. He walked to a nearby empty desk and activated the secure computer with a different pass code and biometrics data.

He first read the latest CIA threat report of the local area. Surprisingly there had been very little change from the last one he had read. He spent the next hour catching up on anything that might have to do with his mission. His first surprise came with the news that NATO and the Canadians were both pulling out the AWACS planes. The ones that had been mothballed in south Arizona due to the lack of money to keep them in operation. It was amazing how they could find the money for those assets now, when the press was yelling for the government to do something.

The other news was that several warships had been launched and more were being rushed through the fitting out process. Even ships that had been marked for decommissioning were being pulled back into any shipyard that had the space to work on them. The number of aircraft, tanks, and other heavy weapons coming off the different production lines all around the world were increasing. It seemed like every country in the world was breaking into their piggy banks to pay for more heavy weapons.

The list of ships and planes keeping an eye on the island had also grown in the last two weeks. A new Saab Global Eye was now on station along with the fourth and ninth built Type 815 intelligence collection ships. The local area was getting much more crowded, and it looked like it was only going to get worse in the future.

The only disappointment had been the lack of information on the small fishing boat attack. It would seem that the attackers had covered up both the registration number and any name that the boat might have had. After it had fired on to the slab-sided craft, it had been blown into pieces with nothing bigger than a toothpick. At least three groups had claimed responsibility for the attack, so far. Most were just trying to use it for fundraising. It was still unknown who had had paid for or had been the trigger pullers on the attack.

As Stephen left the local office, he was thinking that he might want to see about having a few more weapons on his ship. He was betting that this local area was going to get as hot as the coast off East Africa had been back in the bad old days. He was working on a way that he could use that information to both protect his ships and complete the missions he had been given. He was still thinking about it as he made his way back to the bridge of his ship. He was lost in thought as the crew finished welding a new set of braces on the six thousand pound fire safe and vault.

He was only taken out of his trance when his deck boss brought up a financial newspaper and pointed to an article on page seven. It was a detailed report on something called Californium. It seemed that the price for this substance had crashed over the last few months. It had gone from over twenty million dollars a gram to just under a million per gram. This had caused a lot of issues. It seemed like all of the high end products that needed this element were now flooding the market. This had improved a lot of different areas from oil drilling to aviation.

Nowadays, the back log seemed to be production of the supporting equipment the Californium was used in. There were many theories on why the price of this critical substance had crashed out of the blue. One or two pointed to a sudden massive amount of the substance hitting the market just before the aliens had announced to the world that they were there.

As soon as the last container was loaded and locked down, the West Pac Express started on her second supply run. This run started with no fanfare and only a radio contact to let the strangers know that they were on the way once the Express had entered the open ocean. This time the five hour trip was without any issues. The ship followed the direction it was given, backed up to the dock and lowered her aft mounted loading ramp. The ship was inspected, just as quickly, and emptied again of visitors. The ship was quickly offloaded and the factors received their payments in whatever metals they chose.

Captain Beattie's crew was not allowed to leave the far end of the small dock. When one of his crewmembers tried to do just that, he was stopped by a pair of armed guards who did not look very friendly. They had not been that aggressive, just adamant that no one was allowed to leave the area. One of the crewmembers had an HD camera hidden and had taken dozens of images of how the guards were armed and armored. That and anything else was noted as best they could. All of the cargo was lined up on the dock, and it was also not allowed to leave the area. That was strange, and the information was noted. At this point, anything that added to the limited but slowly growing pool of information on the people called Colonials was carefully noted down.

The third supply run the West Pac Express completed was only four days after the second. This went as easily as could be wanted, and the Captain was thinking that this trip might be the end of his involvement with this mission. They had not found anything new on this trip. The ship's master knew that if his bosses did not see anything new, they would find another mission that could be a fit for his ship and crew. That would look bad for him. It had been his idea to focus a lot of The Company's resources out here.

That changed when he inventoried the safe on the bridge. They were an hour outside of the lagoon, but still in the waters claimed by the Colonials. He was making a copy of what each company had been paid and in what form for his report to his bosses. He had no idea what Taaffeite or Painite were, but they were cut gems and there were more than a few of each. After he found out what they were, he went down into the hold of his ship. He had been told that two of the company representatives had taken something other than the normal gold, silver or other item that would typically need a safe.

Once his deck boss had let him know that it was safe for his inspection, the two of them went to inspect the cargo. It was labeled and there was not that much of the odd packages labeled as ore samples. It seemed like he was carrying a few hundred pounds each of Yttrium, Ytterbium, Samarium, Holmium, and Germanium. Stephen had had to check the London Metals Exchange to know what they were and what they were used for after his inspection.

He added this information that the Colonials were now trading hard to find and expensive ores for supplies. He added a copy of the story about the price crash of Californium as an afterthought. Much to his surprise, he was kept on task after his report had been filed. The only note he was given reinforced the order to note everything that came into and left those two islands, and to let him know that he was doing a great job.

Every few weeks another large, at least it was large from the planet's inhabitants' point of view, spaceship would pay the outpost a visit. It would take almost three months of delivering to get to a point where Bellamy was no long mainly focused on setting up the island for long term use. He had to take care of that before he could start sending a steady supply of other items off planet in something larger than sample sized items.

All of the cargos coming to the island had to be sent by small ships on the last leg. It would seem that it was not fast enough for some groups within the larger Colonial leadership. Those items going off-planet were to support the rest of the people out there, stuff the few support ships could not make effectively. This time also would be marked down as the time when problems began for the Colonials on Earth.

Most of the power players of Earth had thought that the news of finding out humans were not alone in the universe would be a boon. They had hoped that the newfound aliens would start trading with them, and that those leaders would have access to the aliens' super advanced technologies. In reality, all they had been getting was sales of common things going to the aliens, and the price of investment metals going down with the almost oversaturation of those normally safe worldwide markets.

About the only item that had gone up in price were something called Fifth Wheel Campers when the Colonials found out about them. They could fit at least one through the hatch in most ships' cargo bays. They were self-contained living spaces. Only about two hundred of these fourteen meter long custom built trailers were made a year. This year's production had been bought, sight unseen, by the Colonials. That was after making sure they met certain requirements.

Those requirements were strange, but fell squarely within what the manufacturers called the off grid package. Each one had been outfitted with solar panels covering the tops of the trailers. All of the storage space under the trailers had been outfitted with lithium ion batteries to store the energy from the panels. They each had six pull outs to increase the living space once put into place. They were rated for high comfort between forty-nine degrees Celsius all the way down to negative fifteen degrees. They were five star hotel rooms on wheels that only needed to have water and waste taken care off.

Each of the trailers was going to hold a family of four or any four people who wanted to live together. It would not belong to the new residents, though. As soon as regular homes were built they would move out and new groups would move into the now emptied campers. That was the plan anyway. It was a very fast way to get people out of the ships, and onto their new world. The only ones on the market now were used ones. The Colonials ignored those because they might not last when they were taken from Earth.

A post on their web page said the same thing. It just went into more detail on why they were not buying those after some unflattering news stories were released. The one little piece of information that was released and could have helped the Colonials was that they needed a few thousand of these trailers. All while permanent homes were being built on their new planet. It was just too bad that they did not know to do this. That little oversight would cause issues, and an opportunity.

* * *

Roslin watched as the latest ship made its landing. It had come straight from Earth to the planet where they were setting up to live. Roslin had a slight smile on her face. She had cleared her calendar when she was briefed on what this ship was carrying. It had been two weeks after the Admiral had set up the outpost and a change had taken hold of the fleet. She had at first not been happy with what the polls were saying. Then after a few messages back and forth between her better half, she started supporting the idea.

As more and more people had been able to spend some time on this warm planet, they had started to feel like they wanted to stay on the ground. The polls said that soon a threshold would be reached and over seventy-five percent of the population would want to put down some long term roots.

In the back of her mind, she had been worried about having a repeat of New Caprica, but with over six billion humans so close this was now a different set up. She let it be known that she supported this idea of putting down long term roots as fast as possible. It had been taken up for voting and had passed.

This system was now going to be the new permanent home of what was left of the Colonies of Kobol. They had even decided that the warmer of the two planets was going to be officially called New Kobol. It was not that original, but it seemed to be a name most could agree to.

Roslin was not surprised that Bill had a more than a basic plan on what to do if this came up. It was not a perfect plan but it did cover a lot of the high points. Now with this huge group of humans so close, Earth could supply a lot of what they were going to need to rebuild at least the first city. They still were in the early phases, and it was going to be slow. They still had to get their ships back up to flight condition in case the Cylons showed back up.

The Colonials had too many things to do without enough infrastructure or enough of the right people for all of the jobs that needed to be done. This ship coming in today was the first installment of help from the planet called Earth. It was not that much but according to the timeline that Bill had talked to her about, they were way ahead of schedule. Up until this shipment, only test articles had been brought in. Everything else was needed to get those two islands, the rest area, and the living area ready for their mission.

Roslin was standing off to one side of the landing area as people left the ship. She could see people exit the craft with huge smiles on their faces and deep tans. It was like they had just come back from the vacation of a lifetime. After the ship's passengers had debarked and moved out to walk around the area of the landing zone, the cargo doors opened. The first things to come off the grounded space ship were more test items. The next items to come off was an odd mix of stuff that never should have been seen in this area of space. Then, it appeared. moving very slowly as it exited out the main cargo hatch of the ship.

The front item was a Coalition States made hover scout car. Hooked to a device near the rear weapons mount was the nose of a fourteen meter long trailer. This was going to be some family's new home in a few hours. They were going to tow it to a designated area nearby that was going to be the test area for this new type of home. It looked good on paper, and she was still amazed that Kathy had found the information on the things.

Laura took this as was just another sign that the human forms had been made a little too much like humans for their own good. She hoped that things worked out as well as she hoped they would. It was only going to be short term housing. They all hoped it would only be needed for a few years. They just needed to last long enough to get people out of the ships and hold them until a proper city could be built for them to live and raise any families in.


	24. Chapter 24 Now that is an idea

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 24 Now That is an Idea**

Earth Mid September 2018

Many meetings were being held worldwide on how to get more of the new arrivals' technology or just have more interaction with them. So far, all ideas had failed to reach those hoped for end states. It would turn out that a young twenty something had the answer. He was a volunteer for the Australian International Airshow, and he thought that his idea would be the ticket. It would be the little stone that would start something that would turn into an avalanche. This airshow was billed as the largest airshow in the southern hemisphere, and they had come up with an idea to pack the show this time around.

The planners for the coming year's show were expecting a very low turnout for this event. Who wanted to pay to see something as obsolete as already fielded fighters, passenger jets, and bombers? When there were aliens with real life space fighters on the news every day?

The volunteer had seen the reports about the shortage of those campers and why they were in short supply late one night. That had caused a spark to come to him just as his eyes were closing for sleep.

No one had been able to talk the Colonials into coming to an airshow, or otherwise show off their craft to the public or even in private. Other than on some homemade or news recordings floating around the World Wide Web, they had been very quiet about their craft. The volunteer thought that if they needed those trailer things so bad, why not buy a few used, and then have them rebuilt in such a way as to meet these Colonials' standards? Then they could be offered as payment for a static display or something.

E-mails flew between the volunteer and several members of the airshow's staff, and the idea was shelved as not being realistic. The matter was thought dead by everyone that had been in those exchanges. That was until Charles sent them an email about the same idea. It was Boxey who had gotten a whiff of it while he had been bored and wandering the internet on his off time. He had passed a copy of the email thread to the head of the Colonial trading post, labeling it as interesting and something that might be worth Charles' time.

Avalon Airport, outside of Melbourne, was where the airshow had been held for the past two and a half decades. Its head, a thickly built dark haired man had come into work late that particular day. He already was in a bad mood even before he got out of his car. He had been up late the previous night working with vendors and public relations people until way too late or too early in the morning. All while trying to come up with ideas and a way to finish up the final plan for what was looking more and more likely to be a very poorly attended airshow.

They were even having a hard time coming up with displays and demonstrations that could up the interest to medium scale next year, much less something which would be a show headliner of any kind. He had a habit of checking his work email first thing when he came into the office. Going through them one by one while he had his first and second cup of coffee for the day. This was the twenty-first century after all, and he did not have time to do only one thing at a time.

Chairman Kobi about choked when he opened an email from an address he did not recognize that was marked important. It was the third one marked this way among the emails he had reviewed so far this morning. When it opened, it was not in the black and white of his normal emails. It was in vivid multicolored message text and images. It had a single statement in large bold letters. "How many campers are you talking about? We would like to open negotiations to support your airshow, if you're still interested?"

Kobi's eyes went to the bottom of the email, and this time he could not hold it back. The hot coffee flew out of his nose when he read the name, title and contact phone number listed there. The numbers were a little on the blurry side as the coffee burned his nasal passages. He was still trying to cough up a lung, when his mind caught up to what his eyes were telling him.

He was on his phone punching buttons while he was still working through the burning out of his nose hairs. The numbers were not the ones on the email. He was not ready for that, just yet. It took him a few hours to get everyone to come down to his office. That included tracking down the volunteer who had come up with the idea in the first place.

After some work, they came up with not just one plan, but many plans that might work. The volunteer had been able to find the original list that he had compiled of campers for sale in the local area. After accessing his computer tablet, he sent the committee all of the information he had. He even already had a quote from a contractor to rebuild one to what the Colonials seemed to be looking for. It was not going to be cheap. In fact, it was going to cost more than what buying one new would have cost before the Colonials had shown up. What they were banking on was that when news got out that alien spacecraft would be on display, the ticket presales would go through the roof. They hoped the presales alone would come close to covering the cost of buying and rebuilding a few trailers.

When everything seemed to have been worked out, it was time for the next step. The one step that might just have them going off of a very high cliff. There was only one way to find out, and that was to put one foot in front of the other. Kobi had the entire planning staff in the airport's largest briefing room when he dialed the number that had been at the bottom of the email. It was only after he started to dial the number that he began to think about what he would do if it was some kind of scam or hoax. When he punched the last number, he was wondering why he had not thought of that before now.

The voice on the line that picked up on the other end did not speak in any of the languages that the people in the room could understand. That said, everyone knew from news reports flying around that it was likely someone speaking Colonial. Before they knew it, a computer switched it to oddly accented English.

Kobi slowly stated his name and why he was calling. Just as hoped, the words that came back to them were understandable if not perfectly clear. Everyone thought it was just a computer translating the communication, just like they had seen on the broadcast from the UN. Unknown to them it really was Charles and Kathy using the English speaking skills they had picked up over the years working with the Rifters. It would be a little while longer before that cat was out of the bag.

It took a few hours of talking, but Admiral Adama had been looking for ways to start showing off some of the items that the Colonials had for trade to a worldwide market. That is, besides some hard to find metals and space diamonds. Bill and Laura had been watching the price of their current trade items falling after every load traded to the planet. They knew that soon, it would not be worth the fuel to mine that much of then. Much less, do that and then move it the light years to this planet.

Charles therefore had orders to keep an eye out for opportunities but these had to meet certain strict requirements. One being that it needed to be low risk, but still let the most eyes see the items. They wanted as much of this world to benefit from this contact, not just one country. Bill knew that something like that would lead to another war, and he did not want that blood on his hands.

So this idea was being pushed a little harder than would have ever been called close to normal, even by Colonial standards. This was all to see what the Colonials might be able to exploit for the larger picture. It was to be a trade, every time the two sides agreed there should be an action and that action should have a corresponding payment for it.

Charles asked if they would like more support for their airshow. Kobi and his staff had wanted and only hoped for a static display of some kind. There was no way that Charles was going to leave a Viper and/or Raptor on display where something might happen to them in the dark of night though. So instead, it was agreed that each day of the seven day event, one Viper and one Raptor would fly from the islands to the airshow's location in the morning, and go back in the evening.

The arrival time of these two craft would make each approach the first air act of the day, and the departure the last air act of the day. It took some time to work out the final details, but that was soon a locked in a deal. History had just been made, and neither side had even seen the other.

The group was ready to pat themselves on the back for a job well done when Charles asked if they had the funds for more. Kobi was looking at the speaker phone like it was the most deadly snake in the world. None of the people working with Kobi on the airshow would get their mouth to work again for some few seconds. This was like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare.

When the room on the other end did not come back very quickly with another reply, Charles knew they were out of ideas. With a sly smile Charles pulled out the plan that Bill and Lee had come up with some weeks ago. He asked what it would be worth to them if they brought a slab of armor that everyone who wanted could take a shot at. The airshow people might be even able to talk some other local companies and let them bring out samples of their own armor. This would allow the damage resistance to be compared between them all, shot for shot. Bill thought that a side by side test would show this world how far behind the tech cycle they were.

One of the women in the airshow group was named Kim. She was major hotel owner, and was helping with the planning of next year's event. She was also the smartest businesswoman in the country. She had started out cleaning hotel rooms while she was still in high school. Now, she owned a dozen large, almost high end, hotels across the country. It did not take her but about half a minute to work out some of the plus and minuses of the offer that had just been put on the table.

"Sir, I can offer another ten of the campers, but that is as much as we could go. This is due to the funding limitations we are working under. We are not a government supported organization, and we have limited resources that we can use on only this one project."

She was using her full business voice. She had the feeling that there was more to get, but it was going to both cost a lot and be very risky. She did not say that out loud. She had just put over half a million Australian dollars of her own money on the line. She and the rest of the group knew to the penny how much they had to spend. They were already at that limit before she even said a word. What she had just offered could now only come from her own pockets. The airshow simply did not have access to any more funds. At least not until the presales started to kick in.

Charles had been about to say that was not enough, but the female on the other end asked a question he had not thought of. Then it was his turn to be knocked silent. There had been very few of those instances since he had taken command of this outpost.

Kim used the sweetest tone she could that she knew worked on most men. She had no idea if it would work on this man. Much less if it would work on him through the phone like this. Still, she had to give it a try. What was the worst that could happen?

"Sir? How were you planning to get fifty rebuilt, twelve to fourteen meter long campers all the way out to your islands?"

Charles had just assumed that he have would to pay to have the campers shipped out on a ship of some kind. Just like they had been doing with any of the other supplies coming onto the islands almost every day. As it turned out, the woman sitting eight thousand kilometers away had an ex-husband. And he was captain of a ship in the local country's small navy.

She could let the navy know that the Colonials would not mind if the Bay-class landing ship called the HMAS Choules made a stop by their outpost. That is, as long as the ship brought out some items that the Colonials needed to be dropped off. All she would need to do is pass along this idea through some people she knew. She did tell the Colonials that the Navy would want to know what was to be dropped off and maybe some other information.

Charles was at first stunned, and then he quickly recovered. He shot a look and a nod to Boxey, who turned to his computer and quickly found the ship in question. It was a larger ocean going landing craft that was unarmed. It was mostly used to support natural disasters and other recovery missions, but it could carry anything from thirty-two main battle tanks to twenty-four of the longest fully loaded cargo containers this world used. It also could get them to the land without needing much in the way of harbor support to do the job.

Kim and the rest of the meeting were growing very concerned at the silence that met the idea she had pitched. It was quiet for almost three minutes and even Kim was starting too sweet. Now she could not wait any longer.

"Ah well... If you don't like that idea, we can work out something else that might your approval." Kim was trying to find a way to save this deal. Part of her mind was kicking her for pushing too hard again.

Charles heard the stress in the woman voice, and after making sure that this ship would be a limited threat to his people, hit the button to open the line back up. "I'm sorry for the delay, but we had to check on a few things. Notably, information on this ship you mentioned. We are still actively learning about your planet. I think this is a workable base idea. Can you send us a point of contact in your local government? One that we can also send a notice to that we are okay with this idea? We will need to work out some issues before we allow a military ship to dock on one of our islands."

He knew that Kathy or Boxey could get him the information in a few minutes, but why not use someone else's contacts to get the job done? Charles made sure to let the people at the airport know that their ability to ship the campers to them was not a showstopper. It was only that it would help make the new visitors' lives a little easier.

With most of the items agreed upon by Charles and the other group, he told them that his lawyers would be sending them a contract in a few hours, and wanted them to sign and return it to him to finalize the deal. James Garden had been sitting in the room the whole time with an assistant who had been clicking away with very quiet keystrokes. They had been flown out the night before via a Raptor to handle something else.

The pair had become the first locals to fly on one of those craft. Not that anyone would know about it for years later, and this pair was not going to talk. Charles had the contract an hour after the call had ended, but he still went through multipage document line by line. All before sending it to the airshow people via the email they had on file.

* * *

The group in the airport was left to their own thoughts after the call had ended. They also went their separate ways for the next few hours. Many had to work through some building second thoughts. It was just sinking into them, mentally, that they had just promised to spend almost a million dollars for just one act of the airshow. Granted, it was going to be two acts per day on every day of the airshow.

There was no longer any doubt about it. On the plus side, they did not have to write one check to pay for it. They could spread the pain out for some time. Even then, this was still going to be a matter of life or death for the airshow. If things did not pan out close to the way that it was hoped for, there would not be another airshow for the next decade. If every again in this city.

Kobi let everyone know when the documents showed up in his email by sending out a group text message. It had been a simple message, "it is here." Those three words were enough to get the managing committee back together again at the quick step. He printed out copies for everyone while he waited for them to come back. Those copies were waiting for them in the same briefing room the teleconference had been held in. It was a very somber room that went through the contract line by line.

After the first look through of the document, they all were surprised that the contact was very fair. However, that was just the first look. The one lawyer in the group was surprised at how short the document was, but also at how little wiggle room he could find in those pages. In the end, it was with huge smiles on all of their faces that the deal was signed and initials put in the right spots. That did not mean that it was not going to cause a few sleepless nights for this group.

Part of the deal that was the Colonials promised to fly over the city. It was dependent on whatever flight plan ended being approved and passed along to them in a reasonable amount of time. It was written down that they must be notified of such in a timely manner, as the first act and the last act.

If the Colonials and the agreed upon craft did not make it to the show, or cancelled, then the Colonials would be responsible for reimbursing the airshow for the loss of revenue, and any legal repercussions arising out of that. The method of payment would be in a list of valuable metals that started with gold, and then on to items that they would need to look up to see the current sale prices of. All of this was put down into a legal document that needed to be signed.

The downside was that the airshow would have to pay up in full if the Colonials were attacked and forced to pull out of the event. The same would be true if the Colonials were asked by federal authorities to not show up to support this event. The group knew that if either of these things happened, they were going to be bankrupted. They could, however, do a few things to make sure those two events did not happen.

If all else failed, they knew that they could sue the Federal government for years if they blocked this deal after it had been inked. That was what lobbyists were paid for. It allowed the use of the court of public opinion to get stuff done. The ace they had in the hole was two fold. It was that both the defense industry and the military would be pushing to help this event happen.

The time between their arrival and departure, the two space craft would be spending in public display. The crews would not interact with the crowds, and they would also act as armed security for the craft during the time that the craft was on the ground. The part about having armed security was not negotiable due to threats and actions against their people to date.

That was not as good as Kobi and his group had wanted it. Then again, they could see how having the crews exposed to massive numbers of people who could not communicate with them could cause some issues. Sometimes, issues could quickly escalate to become conflicts. The local police were not going to like it but as long as nothing happened then there would be nothing to worry about. If something did go wrong and shots were fired, well they could just deal with something like that then.

The second item to be tackled pertained to the armor plate display. The Colonials would supply two sheets of four foot by four foot armor plates about three millimeters thick each. These were to be put on a firing range so that people and companies could shoot at them for fun. The airshow would be responsible for setting up, securing, and maintaining the range. Whoever was the first person to punch a clean hole in the plate could keep the sample plate for all the Colonials cared.

No matter what happened at the end of the airshow, it was the airshow that would be on the hook to get rid of the two armor plates. They would not be brought back to the islands for any reason. There were some other items in the document, but it was nothing that the four lawyers in the group's employ had not seen before.

So Kobi signed, and printed a few copies of the contract. Then he returned it to Charles via the same email account that very day. Everyone was standing by Kobi when he hit the send button. They all exchanged a quick round of back slaps and handshakes before getting on to the really hard work of meeting all of the contract requirements.

* * *

The airshow committee spent the next hour breaking up into three smaller working groups and assigning tasks and milestones for each. One group of four people left the airport as soon as they could. This was so they could go to the bank before it closed. They needed to set up the necessary funding to buy the first batch of twenty-five campers. Then they could order the next batch of twenty-five to be picked up as they come in. They would have to get them picked up from a local showroom quickly, before someone figured out what they were doing. This operation had not been set up to have any operational security.

Kobi did not want someone else to start doing the same thing and thus drive up the cost of the older campers. They also were going to need to find at least one more business that could or would certify in rebuilding the Campers. They would have to be refurbished to be good as new, and do it at a reasonable cost.

That was their thinking when they started. When they told the first business the number and timeline to do the rebuild of the campers they had just bought however, the company just told them they could do the job alone, no problem. As it turns out this was the same company that the volunteer who came up with the idea had first asked if it was a workable plan to rebuild the campers a certain way.

What the group from the airshow did not know was that the owner of the workshop had thought the idea so good that if they had backed out of the deal he was going to do the job on his own. He was only going to be able to do as many as his available funding could support at a time. He had bills to pay, after all. But he was going to have limited production up by the end of the year.

To set this plan up for his part, he had already pre-ordered most of the bulk and specialty items needed for the modifications. All at his own expense and what his experience told him he was going to need for a job like he had been asked to look into. He had even started moving some personnel from other projects that the shop was working on. All so that he was ready the second he got the word to go pick up one of the campers and start working on it.

This was a nice stroke of luck, because the early bulk orders were going to save Kobi's people some money on shipping costs alone. Now that the shop owner knew the size of the order, he could put in another order for supplies without rushing it. He had enough stock on site to keep his people hip deep in work until the rest of the stock and campers came in.

The second group started working on plans regarding how to sell tickets for the shooting events. This was going to be a first for this event, or in the history of the airshow in this country. Australia had some very strict laws about who could own weapons and ammunition. It also covered handling and storage.

This was seen as an advantage for the people who were running the airshow. It meant they could charge more per additional specialty ticket, and charge extra to supply the weapons and ammunition they could use to shoot at the alien metal. They would lose some on the beer sales, but maybe not that much. Alcohol and weapons simply do not mix. Well, they did, but the concoction normally ended up with someone in an ambulance.

This group would spend a few days working on the rules for the shooting event and how they were going to run it. All while keeping all of the new events above board legally. What they came up with was that on the first day of the airshow only pistols would be allowed to be fired at one of the samples.

They would have to set some kind of video system. The idea was to let the people not shooting still see what was going on down range, and still be safe while being entertained. It would also help because the last two hours of each day would be set aside for defense companies to shoot. That way, those companies could also show off what their weapons and ammunition could do to the target. At least, against the Colonial made armor plate on display.

Day 2 would be for rifles that could shoot up to 8mm diameter rounds, again with the last two hours reserved for companies to show off their wares. Day 3 would be for big bore single shot weapons only, no size restrictions. Day 4 was going to be for machine guns of any size, and Day 5 was for whatever else they could come up with and could throw together. It would depend on what the results were from the previous four days.

They had no idea what to do after Day 5. They hoped that they would have time to plan out some other things before they had to jump through too many hoops. With their outline done they would start making contact with the local defense companies in three days. This group was betting on everyone else from around the world contacting them. It would save them a lot of leg work. At least once news got out, or was released about this first time ever event to test alien made armor against Earth made weapons.

The third group was working on how to sell the whole idea to a worldwide audience. They started working on press releases and graphics for the new and the modified events. This group also wanted to let the local businesses know first that they had a major surprise coming for next year's event.

About a quarter of the hotels and rental areas were already reserved for people who came every year to the event. That was money in the bank already, and that could not be changed. It was looking like those people were going to have gotten the deal of the century if things worked out as well as the airshow organizers hoped. Now it was up to the locals to see if they could leverage this new development. Kim had already reserved a few Ford Starlite Transit vans to be able to set up a shuttle service from her hotels to the airshow grounds.

This third group also had the people who were going to have to be the faces of the airshow when they inevitably had to deal with both the local and federal government. Most press releases were already done. They only had to be tweaked a little in a few key spots. They were mostly based on the previous airshow's model, and had been done months before. They just had not been sent to the local printer yet. They would have to make some changes, but it would not take that long. At least, once they all settled on what changes they needed to make to best show off the event.

They had just been lucky that in this day and age, they did not print hard copies very much anymore. Everything was sent via the internet. When the time was right, a press release was sent to the news stations, web page managers, and other advertisers. They knew they still had quite a bit of time to get this done, but it still had to be done and timed right to get the maximum impact on the target population.

The plan was to release in three days, but few of them thought that the story would stay quiet that long. It was too good of a story for people not to talk about for long. They did not know that the story was going to be leaked by the Colonials first. Kobi and the rest of the people working with the airshow had less than forty-eight hours before it was worldwide news.

When the story broke to the rest of the world, they were flooded by information requests from around the world inquiring if it was true or not. Less than a dozen hours after the first hint hit the World Wide Web, dozens of requests for booth spaces were rolling in. It did not take long for the number of exhibits to climb above the average number per year. Soon, it was looking like this was going to be the largest airshow on record in the entire country. If they played this right, it would be a top ten in the world by size of displays of any airshow on record.

* * *

Charles waited a few hours after he was sent the signed contracts before using the contact information the people at the airshow had given him for an official government channel. The contact email he sent briefly went over some things. It only covered what had been agreed to in their support of the airshow. He stated that the Colonial government would like to know if the items that they had been promised in supporting the airshow could be delivered. He made references to the fact that this would be the first contact between the two planets' common folk, and he wanted everyone to be happy with the deal.

Charles made sure to say in the message that his people would prefer that it be a Bay class ship as the airshow people had suggested. He noted that his people liked that ship for two reasons. One was that the ship only needed nineteen feet of water to float. The other reason was that it did not have any fixed weapons mounted. It only could carry crew served weapons, and whatever happened to be in its landing dock bay at the time.

Charles offered to have a cook out for the ship's crew when they dropped off the cargo in question. All they needed to do was bring their campers and enough beer for everyone to drink at the cook out. The Colonials would supply the cooked pigs as the main course. Like all islands visited by sailors in the age of sail, the Colonials' new home was overrun by pigs and goats. That pair of animals had destroyed more than a hundred islands in this part of the Pacific alone. Those numbers were going every year.

Putting a few or even a dozen of them on a barbecue fire was a good way to keep them under control on this island. He also offered that if they wanted to stay two or three days, they could also bring out some hard targets for some target shooting between the two militaries. Charles was hoping that this would move the Colonial plan ahead a little faster. It also would let the Colonials see if they could become friends with one of the local major powers.

As soon as Charles sent the email, the local betting pool on the island was updated on half a dozen topics. Charles also prepped a complete report to be sent on the next ship that left this system to rejoin the rest of the Colonial fleet. Charles was satisfied that they had done the best that they could. It was now in the locals court what was going to happen next.

It took only a few days for the meaning of the last part of the message to make sense to many of the first readers on the other end. The Governor General of the Federal Executive Council quickly contacted the Prime Minister, and the email from the island was classified within minutes of him opening the message. The head of the Department of Defense almost needed CPR after being briefed on the surprise message.

It was only after the word had gotten to them about the shooting range being set up at the upcoming airshow that they truly believed the email. It was hard to figure out who was drooling more, the military intelligence folks or the combat arms boys. It was a tossup on who had the deeper slobber pools at their feet. It did not take long to get everything worked out and approved in writing. The approval had to come down all the way from the Prime Minister, but it was done at the quick time.

When word hit the public mass market information network about alien space craft being on display at an airshow, it started a firestorm that was epic in scale. The White House communication briefer was caught so flat footed that she had dead air for almost two and half minutes when she was asked about why it was not a US airshow hosting the aliens. She had to tap dance around the question, doing such a poor job of it that everyone knew she had not known about the event before the question was asked. That little blunder did not help her future job opportunities when it was time to find a new place of work a few months later.

After that little event went viral, it turned into a nuclear weapon. Henna was in a full blown screaming mode when Alliant Techsystems released a statement to the press that they had canceled an appearance at Joint Andrews Air Force Base just so that they could make the Australian event. On their next news flash Alliant also said that they would be bringing out some prototype ammunition and weapons for the public to see. They were looking forward to being able to shoot at the Colonial provided armor plate.

When this news bite hit the White House, it made for a very rough day for anyone who could not leave the building on short notice of any kind.

* * *

When the advanced tickets for the airshow went on sale, the airport's computer server almost went down under the stress of the digital load hitting it all at one time. The total number of tickets that was planned for online sale only had sold out in less than a single day. That did not even count the number of VIP access passes flooding in.

Every hotel room within eighty kilometers of the airport was rented out by the end of that same first day of ticket sales. Rental cars were all scheduled to be used, and more were laid out by the end of the next day. The three taxi services were planning to double their drivers for that time block the airshow was scheduled to run. The airshow staff started laying out more temporary parking areas and other support facilities as fast as they could.

When more support items and areas became available, then more tickets to the event were sold. Kobi put a total limit on the number of tickets that they would sell on the third day. He had to call a special meeting of the whole committee to address this issue face to face. They had not liked the idea of limiting the sales of general admission tickets. They had just broken even on the whole cost with the sale of the tickets without even having to raise the price. Where before they had to pay and beg to have displays for the show, now companies were begging them and paying top dollar for the smallest of booth spaces on the grounds.

Kobi defended his idea, saying that if the crowds got too big then people would not have a good time, and they might not want to come back to this airshow again. That is, after the newness of having alien space craft to look at had worn off. He had a hard sale to make, but in the end he won out and they would keep a lid on the number of general admission tickets that were sold. Or, in a few rare cases the ones that were given out for free to local companies as a reward for years of support and friendship. Some thought that they were going to miss out on a once in a lifetime event. As new support areas and facilities were added, then the number of tickets would be increased.

This airshow would break all records and would stay at the top of the list of attended events for decades. This would be in both total ticket sales, and total number of people who showed up for the airshow. The local and federal government did not even raise any issues about the Colonial personnel being armed. That had come as a shock to everyone who found out about that little item later. It would be the fodder for political attacks from both sides of the next election.

There was so much interest in the airshow that even the huge harbor in Melbourne called Port Phillip Bay was filling with attractions to handle the overflow of people flying in. It started when the Chinese wanted to send a modified AG600 four engine amphibian. There had not been enough room for a craft that large to be displayed at the last minute at the airport. Instead, they had rented an area to tie it up in the downtown part of the cargo port. This was followed by the ship previously known as HMS Ocean, now called PHM Atlántico Ocean, that had a mixed crew of British and Brazilian sailors.

After that, it was decided that the whole HMS Queen Elizabeth and her attached escorting battle group were going to make a port call during the airshow. She was even carrying her F-35Bs, Apaches, Wildcats, and a few other odds and ends of aviation support. It was turning into a major fleet week the likes of which there had been few of before in this part of the world. The only major naval player that was missing was the United States Navy. This was not going unnoticed, by key players in the world. It would become political fodder in the US as well as in other parts around the world.


	25. Chapter 25 The Air Show

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 25 The Air Show**

Earth Early Jan 2019

The first day of the airshow was everything anyone could have wanted. There had been some concern on the news networks because of a second attack on the twin islands a week before the airshow. It was another small boat attack, stopped at the two mile mark. When the boat had been told to halt, it had floored the engines and tried to force its way into the lagoon at very high speed. All of this and what happened next was caught on video and posted onto the Colonial web page. Somebody had a very bad day, and they would not live long enough to learn from that bad day. It was a Darwinian way of learning.

The video posted online showed that it took only one strafing run to take care of the eighteen meter wooden hulled vessel. It was not the shells hitting the high speed boat that caused the flash, but rather the explosives hidden within the high speed boat. It was a very loud boom, and one that had been recorded and released to the news networks. The event had even been recorded by local civilian built satellites in low orbit over the planet. It was that big of a flash. Some had started taking bets that the Colonials, as they were now called, would not show up at the airshow as they had promised.

Chairman Kobi had made a few requests for contact after word of the attack had found his ears, but none were returned. He was getting a lot more gray hair in his black mane. He also started taking medicine for his stomach as the date of the airshow got closer. By the time the gate opened to a record-setting number of people, he still did not know if he had a primary act or not. When his cell phone buzzed, he had to step away from the group to read the message. When he returned, he looked as if the world had been lifted off of his shoulders. The caller had given him a message from the government and military radar sites. One had picked up two supersonic targets dead on the filed Colonial flight path less than a minute ago.

Kobi had a spring in his step that had been missing for the past week. Kim was watching as he came back to the group and realized something was off about his face. She had no idea what the message might have been, but it did not seem to be bad news. Just before she said something, the chairman of the committee spoke first.

"They are on the way. I think we might want to go to the VIP travel lounge, and see if we make the news. Ladies and Gentlemen, the show is about to start." Kobi had a huge grin on his face as he used an arm to point the way.

The VIP lounge was normally closed during the airshow, but this time it was manned by people hired specifically to augment the usual staff for this year's airshow. It looked like a high end sports bar with a huge flat screen TV spaced out every few dozen feet. Kobi turned on every monitor in the office to a different news station with a master remote. Then, the whole group waited to see if things were going to happen the way that they had worked out in their heads.

It did not take long for the two disparate craft to be caught making a low, loud and slow buzz over the local cities on their way to the airshow. The event was picked up by the news stations, and broadcast to the rest of the world live. Soon those images were on tens of millions of TV's all around the world.

All Kobi could do was smile. Then he remembered that he still needed to alert the ground crews that they would be needed soon. They had cordoned off an open area of the tarmac with hip high plastic barriers, so that the two ships could land in safety. They would be using rules that were originally set up to deal with a VIP CMV-22B. Those rules were going to be more relaxed once the Colonial craft were down and the crews comfortable.

It was only thirty minutes after the flyby and the sonic booms had dissipated out of downtown Melbourne that the two craft overflew the airshow. The pair put on a great show as the two craft overflew the crowds of people below them at the airshow for five minutes of jaw dropping entertainment. A wave of humans followed the now slowly moving twin craft to their assigned landing spots, and had it not been for Kobi's preplanning they would have easily overwhelmed the ships in a wave of human bodies.

Instead they were stopped at a set of heavy, hip high, water filled plastic walls. It was far back enough to be considered safe, but still left a big enough area where the ticket holders could stand to see the craft coming in for a hover landing. Kobi could almost hear the cameras clicking away at the sight of the two non Earth made flying machines lowering themselves to the ground.

Two small elevated viewing stands had been setup and outfitted with very expensive video equipment overlooking the Colonials' reserved landing area. They were normally used for recording the normal shows and events. Now these two were recording every action of the Colonials for every second they were on the ground. One camera was even livestreaming its images onto the World Wide Web.

Everyone was able to see the single seat Viper open its greenhouse like cockpit to let a tall green suited figure exit the dagger shaped fighter. After exiting the craft, the tall female figure gracefully removed her helmet and waved at the gathered crowd. The Raptor was only about four and a half meters from the Viper, and as luck would have it, the hatch that was on the side facing the bulk of the crowd opened. The people had a great view of four people in the same green colored suits exit the slab sided craft by walking down the short wing. If the crews had not had protective helmets on, they might have suffered eye and hearing damage just exiting the Raptor. In one motion the Raptor crew took their helmets off to do their own waving.

The now five helmetless crew walked around their craft waving at the gathered crowd of onlookers. This was very pleasing to crowd, but it drew some looks when two of them re-boarded the slab sided craft. It took only two of them to unload each sheet of thin metal from the larger craft. The sheets were only about fifty pounds each. Both easily fit on a trailer that had been parked nearby for their use. After the two sheets had been loaded, a four wheeled ATV driven by local security pulled out and away from the craft under a heavy police escort. The ATV was followed all the way to the shooting range that had been set up and where the crowd was waiting for their targets.

The sheets were very light, so they had to be mounted in a quickly rebuilt frame capable of holding the thin metal. That was just so as to take the kinetic energy of the planned bullet impacts. Luckily the airshow staff had been told what the weight of each sheet was supposed to be. It took about an hour to have one target set up only twenty meters from the firing line established eight hundred meters away from the two Colonial craft.

The second sheet would be pulled out and put up after the first one had been holed. While the setup of the range was going on, the rest of the airshow continued. Next up were the first fifth-generation-plus fighters ever made. They started to do the planned flying demonstration over the crowd's heads. It served as a great distraction for the crowds as they waited for the next main event of the day. It was a major step away from more conventional times. Then, the highlight of the show would have been just one type of the current top of the line aircraft flying over their heads.

This was a large airshow, but it was mainly focused on local companies that were trying to sell their wares. That is, right up to the announcement of the aliens sending a delegation to this year's show. Now the worldwide big boys had brought out all their most expensive toys. The ones they normally reserved only for events like the Paris or Abu Dhabi airshows. Those two airshows were where everyone brought out their top of the line products to show and hopefully sell to VIP's. It made for a lot of displays, and allowed for industrial espionage on a large scale. That was also where half a billion dollar deals were signed every day of the show.

Almost everyone on Earth, by now, had seen the image of the PKM hitting the Raptor's armored glass cockpit. What the pros had figured out from that released recording was that the shooting match would not be really good. At least not until they were up past the Russian 7.62mm class of rounds. The pros and the armchair ones were all laying good odds that somehow this three millimeters of metal was as strong as the glass that had protected the nose of the larger scout class ship. That did not mean that many different countries did not have experts watching and recording the results of the pistol rounds as they impacted the armor plate on the short range. After all, this was the first time an event like this had been staged, and surprises were known to happen at first time events.

A few had their own weapons to shoot at the metal target with. While the shooting got started, a portable hut was in motion through the crowd not that far away. It was climate controlled and well stocked with food, being towed to a spot only a few feet away from the Colonial ships. It was more to give them a place that was out of the public eye. If they got bored, they could stretch their legs around the airshow. They did not talk to anyone while walking around the cordoned off area though. They would just wave and smile at the bystanders before getting out of sight again.

All throughout the first day of the airshow, people rented weapons and bought ammunition. At the end of the day, when the last of the manufacturers were trying to show off their ammunition against the three millimeter thick plate, the entire group of Colonials was seen exiting the small portable building. They soon were seen starting to do a preflight check on the two ships for the return trip home. Word was quickly spread around the airshow that something was up. This was something that had not been published. As far as the rest of the airshow was concerned, all of the air parts of the airshow was done. Only the staff and a few key personnel knew that the Colonials would be doing a second fly-by.

The two craft were boarded by the Colonials and at the appointed time, the engines turned over in loud blasts of thunder. It was picture perfect, and it was caught on professional equipment as the two craft came to a hover then shot over the crowd. The two pilots did a few showy stunts, before hitting the turboboost and shooting across the sound barrier in power climbs. It was like watching a pair of massive rockets taking off from a space launch facility. Even the novices could tell that there was no way that anything made on this planet could have copied that last move.

* * *

Kobi was watching as they stuck to the flight plan and did a power dive that started at over eighteen kilometers over his head. They effortlessly did a pull out and did a low altitude buzz of the crowed again. They did some more showing off before banking off to head back to their home, eleven thousand kilometers away. They did not need to be shy about it, so the pair moved at a speed that they were more used to. They were able to make it back to their base in only a little over four hours of flight. Every move of the pair of small craft was watched and listened to by fleets of very specialized aircraft, ships, and satellites. Pens and keyboards would be working long after the two different craft landed on the islands.

He was already reviewing the sales for the next day's tickets. These were from people buying their tickets for tomorrow before leaving the airshow today. All so that they could come back tomorrow to see everything all over again. It was truly an impressive number. It was rare for people to come two days in a row to see this airshow. Not only were sales of everything higher than normal, they were even higher than projected in every category that they tracked. The sales taxes they had collected today from the sale of ammunition at the shooting range alone was equal to what they normally turned over for the whole week to the government.

His only worry now was the security of the two sheets of armor the Colonials had dropped off. He had done the best he and the airport's head of security could do. Both sheets were now in a massive gun safe that had been bought just for that purpose. The safe was then surrounded by a dozen armed guards at all times. He had been approached by his own country's intelligence services before the airshow and had been approached again today to make sure he was still on board with the plan they had come up with.

They wanted to get a closer look at the thin armor skin. It would be done late at night so that no one would know about it. They had not said that they would take it from him if he and his group did not agree to their plans. That was something that did not need to be said aloud to be understood as a possibility. He just wanted everything to be legal, and the Colonials had said from the beginning that they were going to be able to keep them after the show. So technically, they were the property of the airshow.

In return for helping with this special and private access, they were provided an additional two full companies of military police and a wheeled armored vehicle company for the entire airshow as additional security. Before long he left his office for the day, but not to go home. He would be sleeping down the hall because he was too run down after the long day to risk the drive home. That was normal for him during the course of an airshow. It was the only way he could get sleep of any measurable length.

Kobi was sitting on his cot with a bottle of good whiskey opened and sitting on a side table. He was too wound up from the great news. He poured three fingers deep of the richly colored liquid into a short glass, gave himself a toast in the air and took a heavy pull. Even with the high cost of getting the Colonials to show up in the first place, everything they made from dawn the next day going all the way until the end of the airshow, that was going to be all profit. That is, unless something truly evil happened between now and then. Then again, that was why he had pushed for the beefed up military presence on the grounds.

The next two days of the airshow were the same, and were done to great thunderous applause at the end of each day. They had to limit the number of people on the airfield at any given time due to the fire hazard. But as people left, new ones were allowed to trickle into the huge cantonment area the airshow had set up. It was a first in airshow history that anyone knew of that they had to turn away people who wanted to buy tickets to the general event.

* * *

The many sports bars and hotel bars in the local area had picked up some of the slack by televising some of the airshow's events. Mainly everyone was watching the shooting events taking place around the armor plates. Zoom lens allowed these people in the bars to see what most at the airshow seeing it live could not with their mark one eyeballs. They got to see the incoming rounds deflect or shatter off the armor in extreme close up and slow motion detail.

The last two hours of the day followed the trend set by the events at the start of the day. Each company would give a ten minute brief about the weapon or ammunition they were going to try before putting a single round down range. About the only thing that could be said about the last two hours was that none of the factory reps missed the fixed target on the shooting range.

Bookies had stopped taking bets on what was it going to take to punch a hole in the thin metal after the second day. An Australian Army general was there on the airshow grounds for the end of Day Three of the airshow and he was shaking his head in disbelief as he reviewed what he was seeing. He had just seen a 50 caliber BMG round fired form a long barrel sniper rifle get stopped cold at twenty-five meters by a three millimeter slab of metal. That was just wrong and it was against the laws of nature and of man in his book. That size of a round was impressive at 12.7 millimeters in diameter. Nevertheless that round had been stopped cold. One of the new high tech API rounds of that caliber would have stung a modern light tank if it hit the wrong spot. That had started his late afternoon into a major downward spiral.

The Chinese had been next up on the firing line and were quite smug when they showed off their new 14.5mm anti-materiel rifle. That had lasted for only about ten seconds after the first round went out. That was because the spotting scope equipped on the camera had showed that it had only marked the metal with a small dent. The race of Han had not taken any interviews after the last of ten shots from their monster weapon had been completed. They would have fired more, but the weapon had exploded in the shooter's hands on the eleventh squeeze of the trigger. The shooter had lived, but he would never use a weapon again.

Heckler and Koch were the last shooters of the day. It was another monster weapon that, before today, no one had even known was in development. It was a six round, 20mm, single shot, very long ranged shooter. A very loud shout went up from everyone in the stands after the dust had settled from the first hit. There had been a second round rapidly fired from the weapon, but it had missed the target.

They had knocked the target down, something that had not been done to date with any other high energy impact. Everyone knew they must have punched the first hole in the metal plate with such a powerful strike. They were wrong. It did have a small dent, but it looked more like the type of damage a large sized hailstone does to a car's hood in Kansas. That was the damage a 20mm cannon shell fired from a few meters away had done. The shooting had to stop until the support crew could fix the target back up.

None of the General's people were going to be able to check out the armor plate tonight. There were too many eyes around who would notice. It had not taken long for the larger defense companies to say that the armor demonstration was a great success. That success also generated a lot of press and attention at the highest political levels. With this added pressure they had asked and paid for more areas and had set up their own armor for people to shoot at. No one was bringing the thickest of main battle tank armor, say something like forty centimeters or thicker, but they were bringing out targets with the thickness of what you would find on some wheeled armored cars and combat transports. This also meant that there were a lot more eyes on the airfield after the gates closed that night.

The General had contacted his command and obtained approval for two of the APC/IFV's to remain as part of the local unit on security detail. They would be allowed to use the range for a very public display of firepower. One of the eight wheeled cars was outfitted with the American Bushmaster in 25mm. The other was one of the few recently rebuilt turrets with a 40mm Bofors auto-cannon in its turret. He also was having a single RPG-7 type weapon with two warheads sent out to him.

Those weapons had been confiscated a few months ago from a smuggler and did not really fit in the Australian Army's TO&E. It was going to be a lively next few days if he could help it. So far what they had found out about this new type of metal was that it was going to change the face of tank warfare in the near future. More than a few in his circle were thinking that the round robin of armor vs firepower was going to swing towards the armor side of the equation for a while. Someone on his staff had called it the Chobham armor or Explosive Reactive Armor (ERA) of their generation.

* * *

Diana "Hardball" Seelix had been cooling her heels for the last week or so. She had been flying off the flagship in her Viper. That is until she and her ex-husband, whom she had married and shortly after divorced as part of a long series of bad decisions made during the long three year trip from New Caprica, had had another explosive fight. This one had the bad luck of being in a very public place when they both went nova. This time she was the one that had started the physical part of the fight. Maybe she should not have hit him upside the head with the wood bat. In hindsight, that might have been a little over kill.

Someone had been passing rumors of a very personal nature and he was one of very few who knew some of those details. When she had confronted him the very next time she saw him, he had denied saying anything. But then with an insolent smile on his face he had told her that maybe if she was more careful with whom she was sleeping with, then she would not have to worry about everyone knowing about it. That was when the too handy wooden stick got acquainted with him. It had gone downhill from there very quickly. The ex might have been just another Viper jock, but he had liked to fight. That was how they met in the first place, through a bar fight. This fight had quickly grown and gone from bar to street.

The Admiral had decided that maybe some distance between them would be better for everyone, so he had put her on the next supply run to the blue planet. She did not even have her own Viper. She was listed as a backup pilot for one that was already there. She had been the one taking the Viper out every day to come to this airshow. As far as the flying went, she could do some playing twice a day, but not much else. That was nice, but the rest of the flying when she could get the stick time was so dull she almost fell asleep in the cockpit a few times.

She was bored and after almost a week at the airshow, she was tired of sitting in the little tent or walking along the little barrier that kept the locals from touching the two Colonial craft. It was the last day of the shooting events, and almost the last day for her to have to be here. She needed some excitement and it was not as if she could drink and fly. That was one flying rule she both understood and agreed with. Now, flying hungover, that was a whole other discussion.

Today's shooting had not involved soft pops, but loud cracks. This seemed like it would be interesting to her. She and two others went for a walk around the ground displays. She had been briefed on how low tech the weapons were on this planet, but until now, she did not understand how bad things were. They had thousands of nuclear warheads, after all. She quickly got bored and depressed even more. Finally, while she was sitting again in the cool air of the tent with an odd flavored drink called a Coke, she decided she wanted to see something go boom and fly apart.

What got her to leave a second time from the tent was when she saw the two cannon armed wheeled tanks make their way to the shooting event on the wide screen display. She had just seen the results of the smaller wheeled armed vehicle weapons. It had only dented the thin armor plate. It was her opinion that the weapon might have stopped a single Centurion, or a Raider, but that was only a maybe with a single hit.

She decided that enough was enough, so she grabbed her side arm and walked over to the shooting event one more time. She should have taken a second person with her, but she had not thought about it at the time. The other three Colonials had only thought that she was going to the porta-john set up out back of the portable tent. That is, until she wound up on the international news, and by then of course it was too late. A Viper pilot was on worldwide TV, and she was not on a leash.

The crowds were thinner now, this late in the afternoon under the beating sun but there were still a lot of people around. Most were stunned to see a human looking alien walking among them like she was walking on a beach. Everyone who had a TV should already have seen half a dozen science shows saying that these aliens' DNA said they were human. That did not mean that everyone believed those shows. Mainly because they always left more questions than they answered.

Most people just moved away from her line of travel, but the cell phone cameras were going nuts with the opportunity. Some tried to talk to her, and she could understand them for the most part. But like the others on the islands, she had been told very pointedly that she was not to speak in English back to them no matter what. She could just smile, wave, and then take a few steps to increase the distance between her and whoever was trying to talk to her. For the most part, it worked for her. If someone tried to push, and seemed to be following her, she would just put her hand on the butt of her holstered weapon and give them the look. So far just giving the look had been enough.

The Colonials had been quickly labeled as cowboys by most members of the press just because every one of them that had been seen carried a holstered weapon like Wild West cowboys in the movies. Now that everyone at the airshow had been videoed as packing a weapon looking device, the name was starting to stick around the airshow. It was not used derogatorily though, unlike what the news was doing.

The larger cannon armed thing was just finishing up firing a burst of ten 40mm rounds into the sheet of metal. The target was again blasted out of the holder, but the 3mm thick slab of armor still had no hole in it. They had to stop the demonstration while they put the target back up in its reinforced holder. As Seelix watched the other targets made of local metal, a local Earth built rifle round bounced off the dirt as it was ejected from the weapon.

She was standing that close to the shooter. No one had said anything her, and she had wanted see better. So she got as close as she wanted to the action. After all, she did not understand what was being said.

The slick salesman was bragging about how well his company's armor was standing up against everything that had been used against it. There was something about the man that was just getting under her skin, and it was getting worse by the spoken word. He did a hand gesture that was almost an exact copy of what her ex did, and she reacted. There was a reason the other pilots and crew called her Hardball.

* * *

Captain Paul "Karma" Lorence was watching the shooting events when it happened. He was a US Air Force combat pilot, but he was also a highly experienced test pilot. That meant that he had a broader knowledge base than most other pilots. When word got out that the so called Colonials were going to be at this airshow with one of their craft, the powers that be decided that the US needed to send their most cutting edge fighter to the same show. You never know, maybe it could drum up some more sales of the craft. The more they sold, the cheaper the other airframes would be for the US government to pay for over the period the airframe would be in production.

Karma could have flown an F-22 in an operational unit, but it had been out of production for almost a decade now. Besides, it was kind of old hat for an airshow scene. So he had to fly out the craft to which he had been assigned as a test pilot for the last four months. It was the first F-35 block 5Fa or F-35D as it was called in the press. This was going to be the first time that she was put on public display anywhere in the world.

It was a frankenstein machine that mixed Air Force, Marine, and other modified equipment and fitted them all into one airframe. The F-35 was supposed to replace a wide variety of fighters and combat aircraft designed and built in the 1970's and 1980's, but it was having problems performing all of the tasks that its venerable predecessors could perform. This test aircraft was a political hope to fill those slots and shut up some of the critics for the aircraft. There were still a lot of designers who were not sure whether the airframe was going to live up to the ideas of the program or not.

The F-35D took the jump jet from the F-35B, but without the front mounted cold air fan. It did add a pair of fully movable canards on the nose. It was then mixed with the longer wing span of the F-35C carrier versions. The new craft could not take off vertically, but it only needed about a hundred feet of good runway, so it was listed as a STOL, or short take off/landing craft. It retained that STOL capability with a full load of weapons mounted internally and more than a few hung on its wings' hard points. That alone was an impressively designed feature.

They also had taken the lessons learned from the F-35A and the F-22, adding super cruise along with some other options taken from both craft. This also added what they were starting to call super maneuverability to this airframe. It could do all of those things from fifty thousand feet above the ground, all the way down into the mud. Karma enjoyed flying the craft, but it still had some bugs that were proving both hard to find and harder to fix. That was why they still needed test pilots to fly the craft. Everyone was hoping that this would change by the time the next budget allocation was done.

He, like everyone else, had been hanging out near the two alien craft for most of the airshow. He had spent even more time near them on the second day. At that point a pair of signs had showed up marking the two craft as being called Vipers and Raptors in English. He had gotten a kick out of the names, since they were also used on newer production F-16's and the F-22. Both of which he was qualified to fly. He wondered if the names were given by the aliens before or after they had made contact with his planet.

He had already flown twice in his F-35D at this airshow for demonstration purposes. He had noticed the Chinese looking real close at his craft every chance they could. More than a few got as close as they could push it, and they had some impressive looking lens on the cameras in their hands. He was hoping that the contractors had updated their computers since the last hack those basters had done to them. There was nothing he could do. Protecting the craft on the ground was someone else's job, he was just the pilot.

He had been briefed that the aliens were human according to the blood tests, and he was just getting his head wrapped around that fact. So when he saw the attractive female pilot get out of the single seat craft, he had noticed her. Karma normally went for blondes, but something just kept his eyes glued on the green suited woman. Every time he was around the alien craft, he noticed her. After a few times seeing her, he thought that she looked bored with the comings and goings of the airshow. He was mildly insulted at her lack of interest, but somehow that just made her more attractive to him.

That was why he had been looking her way when it happened. He saw something, but he had no idea what it was. He could tell that something had changed with the woman. He had quick reflexes, very quick, even compared to other fighter pilots. He was in the top two percent in reaction time in the entire US Air Force. Still he only had enough time to grab his buddy's arm to get him looking in the right direction. About a split second before it happened.

Some would say that it was snake quick movement. Not to the pilots in the group that was there. They would say that it was smooth, smooth as high quality silk. Their minds are wired differently from other people with the way they see fast movement. They have to be that way if they expected to fight at the speed of sound or faster.

One second the Colonial was looking at the salesman. The next, her hand was at her holster, and the odd looking pistol was out and firing a single shot. The sound of the weapon was completely different compared to what else had been shot today. It was different enough that most of the people around knew that it was somehow different. It was attention getting on a mega scale.

Whatever she had shot, it hit the displayed armor plate twenty-five meters away. It was the same armor and thickness used on the front of the new generation APC and mine protected vehicles. The ones that had been gaining market share over the last decade. This one was just starting to come off of the production lines to replace the worn out combat equipment and mainly going out to the Middle East. It was advertised as having the best and newest generation of armor protection.

The single shot blew a dinner platter sized hole into the armor and kept right on going. The round was traveling faster than any other round that had been fired all week. When the seven thousand feet per second round hit the metal target, it generated a lot of heat. It was a race to see what metal got soft first, and it was not going to be the incoming round. The heat melted or softened the metal sheet and the hard round pushed through the weakened metal sheet. The shockwave of the passage pulled the hot weakened metal behind it. This increased the size of the hole from about eight millimeters to half a meter wide in milliseconds.

The Colonial female gave the now mouth agape salesman a smile that was at the same time sexy and vicious. Then she pulled her weapon down from her aim stance. With that same smile on her face, she then walked to each display down the line. She put a single round into each of the armored targets, one shot at a time. It had about the same results as the first display, no matter how the armor was protected. They all ended up with a massive hole blown into each one after only a single shot from the short barreled pistol.

When she reached the end where the Colonial supplied armor was, she did something with her weapon that after years of training was blinding fast. If it had not been caught on video, no one would have been able to see what she did. She fired one round at the now much dented Colonial made plate. When the smoke settled, a little finger sized orange rimmed hole was clearly visible in the hard metal plate.

Later during interviews, people who were used to weapons fire would all say that the weapon sounded different from when she had blasted the Earth made plates. Close review of the data would show that the pistol in her hands had a double barrel. She had used the smaller top mounted one when she was firing at the local made display. But when had she used the larger bore under barrel? It was when she had engaged the last display that was made of metal made from offworld.

The entire show had only lasted about three minutes. In that short amount of time she had proved that any military vehicle deployed on the planet that had less armor than a light tank or main battle tank, all were at risk of being removed from the battlefield by any single soldier that happened to be hiding behind a tree, convenient rock, or a window sill. As long as that soldier was armed with a pistol sized weapon similar to what these visitors were packing on their hips at an airshow.

The event was on the web before she made it back to the little cabin the locals had set up for the Colonials to use. When it started playing on the local news that was streamed into the fabric sided cabin, Seelix just hung her head down and wondered what the old man was going to do to her for this screw up. Was she going to be busted back down to knuckle dragger? She had no idea that she had caused the results the Admiral had wanted all along. The world had just gotten a wake-up call that weapons wise they were way behind the people who now lived on their blue planet with them. This was not going to sit well with a lot of people for a lot of different reasons.

Seelix felt her heart sink when she landed her Viper back on the resurfaced airport. Charles was waiting on the landing field and he did not look happy. He had his hand on his hips in a pose that he had developed while he was overseeing the engines that could move a million ton Battlestar. He knew it made him look mad as frak. That was one of the things he had learned in his long career. Between the look and the fact that he was standing out on the landing area in the rain he was sending out signals that all was not right in his world, and he was about to let someone know about it.

Seelix exited her craft and was having a problem keeping her head up as she closed the distance to the local commander. Charles Bellamy had to bite the inside of his lip to keep the stern look firmly on his face. This made him look even madder when she was ten paces away from him. Soon he could not hold it in any longer against her hound dog look. When her head bobbed down again to look at the resurfaced tarmac, he struck, lightning quick.

"Good job, Hardball! That was what the Old Man wanted done! I knew you had it in you down there somewhere! Go get some sleep. You're back on deck to fly back at dawn. I want them to know that you're not in trouble with your little display of handheld firepower. And again, great job thinking on your feet."

Charles turned around on his boot heels and walked back into the building that held the control tower and his office. He was leaving a stunned pilot on the dark and wet tarmac alone with her thoughts while her jaw was swinging in the breeze. Charles had gotten hard on the long trip away from the nebula, and he very rarely gave any kind of praise.

* * *

Early the next morning, Seelix was still working on what had happened the day before. She had been sure after she had shown off with her sidearm that there was going to be trouble for her. She was thinking that when they all got back to base and they found out what she had done she was going to be grounded from flying to the end of the solar cycle, or the cold death of the universe.

It was strange that nothing had been said about what happened. It was just as Charles had told her on the tarmac the night before. Even when she was eating breakfast in the cafeteria, no one said anything about her shooting up the airshow. As she applied power to her Viper's engines, and the little craft took to the air, she was smiling like a tiger looking at a nice fat lamb. She had an idea.

She was thinking about two things as she and the Viper flew at almost four times the speed of sound over the blue water. One was what might she be able to get away with, next time? The other was wondering if the sexy American pilot she had seen watching her would be around again. Everyone had always said she had a bit of Starbuck in her. Why not see how much? If the Old Man wanted the locals to now know more about their military capabilities, what could she do next and have some fun while doing it?

Seelix in the Viper and the Raptor kept to the flight plan they had been given. It was just that they were going a lot faster than was listed on the flight plan as it was filed weeks ago. It was just like they had done every other day of the airshow. Things were normal to the casual observer on the ground looking up. Right up to the time they approached their assigned landing area at the airshow. That part of the airfield was packed with people, way more than had become normal.

The pair of Colonial craft were hovering in the air for almost ten minutes making sure the landing area was clear before touching down on the concrete. Hardball was shutting down the power to her engines when she looked up. That was when she was able to make out and count the number of security guards. They had to stand along a new concrete barrier that now marked the edge of the Colonial area. They were almost within arms reach of each other.

The crowd went nuts after she exited her craft and removed her helmet. She thought that there were more people in front of her, than the total number of refugees from the Colonies. After looking around and seeing that she was the only Colonial that had exited their craft, she just smiled and waved as a response to the crowd's vocal assault. All as she moved as quickly as she could to get out of the crowd's line of sight. For someone who had not spent these last few years in such close quarters, it was strange for a crowd of people to make one of the Colonials bolt that way.

None of the Colonials left the temporary cabin all morning to mingle around the airshow, the crowds were just too massive for them to be able to handle willingly. Hardball had to check out her craft by walking around it every ninety minutes. She tried not to make it a predictable habit, but it did get her out of the building and it got her out under the open sky for a little while.

No one had done anything to the craft but it was SOP, dating all the way back to public demonstrations in the Colonies. So they did it, just as the book said to. She was thankful for the guards and hip high barrier. She had also timed it so that she was also out there at the same time one of the Raptor's crew was out doing his own walk around. Now that she was here, she had found out that she was a little shy about taking the next step of her half formed plan.

While she was doing a modified flight check on her craft, she could smell food being cooked floating on the slight breeze. On the first day of the airshow, only a few food vendors in "food trucks" were in close proximity to the Colonials' area. They were in preset spots, dictated by the people who were running the airshow. By the start of the second day, a temporary eating and food tent was starting to be set up. At that point, the local area had more in common with an outdoor sports bar or beer fest than your average airshow.

In other words, it was a pilot's dream hangout on steroids. They served both leaded and unleaded drinks, as well as a wide selection of food. The food ranged from low mass, to a pretty good cut of steaks fresh off a wood fired grill. The Colonials had gotten food there almost every day. They had someone else pick it up for them so that they would not have to deal with the crowds that populated the main tent. It was also assumed that the Colonials would not know what to order or how to order from a place like that. It was a culture thing.

This time, Hardball thought she wanted to see the insides of the main bar of the place for herself. This time, she made sure to let the others know where she was going, and Skulls tagged along with her. He said it was just to be on the safe side as they went over to the local bar. Charles had posted an amendment to the operation's protocols, but it still said they could not drink the wrong type of liquids. On the last run from the small cargo ship to the islands, the Colonial crew had been found talking to the ship's crew. Today the flight crew were cleared to talk, but they were told to play dumb for as long as they could. Skulls was not too sure that Hardball would walk that line, not without some supervision, on both of those counts.

As soon as the two green suited Colonials walked into the large tent, they felt right at home. Just like they were back in the Galactica's bar. No one was staring or pointing at them, just a few people making quick eye contacts, with a few nods and chin lifts. They were just another pair of pilots in a room full of pilots, crews, or people who had been at one time one of those people. There would not be any press or others that might make the type of comment that would be not accepted by this type of people.

As Hardball was hoping, she saw the cute pilot from the day before. He was using the universal hand signs that one pilot used to talk to another pilot when describing complex aerial maneuvers. They were the same hand signs that had been around from the time a flying craft first shot down another flying craft.

Karma had seen the woman enter the tent that covered the Coffin's Corner, but kept explaining his last mock dog fight over the Black Sea with an SU-35S to this little crowd of pilots.

After the male pilot had finished his hand rendition and the meeting seemed to be taking a break, Hardball pulled out a slip of paper, and slowly wrote in English on the slip. This type of communication had been anticipated and approved weeks ago so she could use it now and not get into that much trouble from her people. What was written on the paper might not be viewed that way, later. Then again, popping off a few rounds the other day had been the right move after all. This just seemed to make the most sense for the next step in what The Admiral wanted done.

Karma took the note from the woman, and considered all the paperwork he was about to have to do. Then he read the note. "Fighter?" The second line in block letters said, "How good you?" He then forgot all about any memorandum of conversation with a possible hostile power he might have to do later. He was a fighter pilot, being asked a very normal question from a peer, a peer that was hot looking.

Karma gave a confident grin and nodded up and down that he was a fighter jock. He then held up a single finger to show that he was the best fighter jock around. Every fighter pilot thought they were the best. If they didn't feel that way, then they weren't going to be a fighter pilot for much longer. The reason for hangars to have those large doors was for the pilot's ego to fit through. If those egos deflated too much, they would either step down or higher command would have to find a new job for them as a staff officer.

Hardball said something to the other green suited person standing off to her left. Then she took the slip back, and added more to what she had written a few seconds before. When she passed it back to the cute pilot, his jaw hit the floor. He could not believe what he had just seen. Was this a dream or a nightmare just getting started? Later, he would not know what way his mind was leaning. Then again, he had just been challenged.

The piece of paper had additional words written on it. "Prove it. Now?" She had added the last word at the very bottom of the small sheet of paper. The whole scene had been witnessed by dozens of people in the tent. They added their opinion, very vocally, once the people closest had read off the half inch tall letters. So with the overactive sex drive and hormones native to this type of personality in the tent, he and they all stepped off the cliff with huge grins on their faces.

Karma had been drinking from the unleaded side of the bar all day. He was not against drinking a beer or three while talking shop. But he dared not fly for twenty-four hours after one drink, and he was going up in an old World War 2 biplane trainer the next day. He had planned his days' activities accordingly. Now he was thanking God that he had not taken up that Polish pilot on his offer earlier. He had been offered a drink after talking shop for a few minutes about Russian fighters.

He knew he was about to break more regulations than he could count in a week. Then again, what could they do to him if he pulled it off? He was about have a fly off with the first non Earth built craft in history, with witnesses to prove it. And the offer had been made in front of fifty other pilots from two dozen different countries. There was no way he could not take up the challenge. He was about to drink for free in any airdale bar in the world even if he ended up unemployed after today.

"Oh hell, yeah!" He said in a voice louder than he wanted, and pointed to the tent flap that was the exit. The mixed group of alien and Earth born pilots fast walked out of the tent in a single small wave of humanity. They were soon followed by the rest of the tent's occupants as word spread of what might be about to happen to a growing number ears. This was history in the making, and word spread at the speed of rumor. That was about as close to the speed of light as the people of Earth knew about and the Colonials knew from experience that it was even faster.

* * *

Karma's jet was on display about six hundred feet from the Raptor display on the north side of the tent. The only reason for this location was that someone in the US State Department had pulled some strings to get a prime spot near the aliens. Even then, they had paid through the teeth for it and given up something they still did not want to talk about. He was going to take advantage of that location right now. He was already planning out what he was going to do once he was in the air. He was multi-tasking even as he fast walked through the crowd of people.

In their rush to leave the bar and grill, the slip of paper was left on the bar tabletop. Skulls was too busy shaking his head in concern to pick the paper slip up, and followed the pair out of the tent as quickly as he could. The Polish pilot that Karma had been talking to before the green suited woman slowly walked up to the table top however, did take notice.

Picking up the sheet of paper, he shouted to the bar and waved the prize in the air over his head. In later years the slip of paper would be sold and resold many times before ending up in a private collector's hands. It just worked out that on the collector's death, the next owner would turn it over to the United States Air Force museum for safe keeping and display. It would be one heck of a tax write off for the estate.

The two Colonial pilots split with the American pilot who was just breaking off into a leopard run towards his high tech steed. He had to bob and weave through the thicker parts of the intervening crowds. Hardball made it to her craft first, and did a quick but complete pre-flight check. When she started the power up and her battery was activated, her radio started picking up the airport tower.

She was able to listen in on what was going on around her. The news had not reached that far yet, but she had a smile on her face. She was picturing all of those hoops that they were about to have to jump through. She never even considered that they might try to stop her from having some fun. Her mind just did not work that way.

Karma had contacted the tower on a hand held radio and let them in on the deal before anyone else could. It was quickly backed up by one of the senior tower staff who had happened to be in the bar at the time that all of this had started to play out in public. This was the last day of the airshow, and so besides the fireworks, the only flying that was going to happen were some commercial aircraft doing slow fly overs until the Colonials flew home.

It took the tower some time, but soon the airspace above the airfield was clear of any traffic. Now a real show had its stage. All that it was waiting for were the two dancers to show up, and see if they were as good as they thought they were. Even people who did not know what was going on could feel that something special was about to happen. A wave of nervous energy stated to sweep the crowd from two close epicenters.

The air traffic controller opened up the channel that was only used for the airshow. After a burst of loud static, his voice was coming out of every speaker and through an app loaded onto most of the cell phones in the local area. A deep and clear male voice came over the speaker and only a person with a very well trained ear could hear the true wonder in the voice.

The voice boomed all over the airport and over the open radio channels. "Craft! The sky is yours. Be safe out there. You have one hour of free time before we have to have you land. The airshow airspace has been cleared of all traffic except the outer holding pattern."

The radio clicked off, again. That was all the directions given to the two pilots. They had a clean slate to test their skills and the limits of their own craft. There were no written rules for something like this. The head flight controller had only heard about something close to this happening once. Back when Howard Hughes had flown an ME-262 against an early production run of the F-86B with George Welch at the controls. He remembered to make sure that all of the recorders were taking in data before he announced the news.

Karma had come running to his craft as fast as his well-developed legs and the crowd would let him cover the distance. The crew chief had been doing the Q and A with the local crowd when he saw the pilot running to the prep tent out of the corner of his eye. He had no idea what was going on until the pilot was about fifty feet away and he yelled to get the plane ready to get off the ground. That was enough information to get the experienced crew chief moving at the quick step.

It was not a well-known fact, but US military planes sent to foreign airshow were often kept ready to launch on short notice. It was a just in case issue, but today it was going to pay off big time. The enlisted staff sergeant crew chief had no idea if there was a terrorist attack coming, or if there was some other threat to the aircraft. He jumped away from the rope line and started getting his bird ready to regain the freedom of the sky.

In less than five minutes, the F-35 was ready to fly. When the tower cleared them to fly, Karma applied power to the massive F135-PW-600K GO2 engine. With the help of the now informed ground crew, the nose of the craft was turned about eighty degrees from its parked position, lining up with an opened area for its very short take off.

Karma did a short run down the runway to get his craft in the air. He did it all under six hundred feet of white painted asphalt. He did not need to show off the capabilities of his craft just then to the crowd. So he took the longer run down the runway for the simple reason of saving some fuel. Fuel that he might need for this mock dogfight. That the longer run gave him about double the forward airspeed was also a nice plus for him. Speed was life for a fighter. He wanted to be able to call on every advantage he could wring out of life.

It was a hell of a show. Hardball saw the jet take off into the rich blue sky out of the corner of her right eye. She, with a flip of a pair of switches, activated the AG of her craft. When she grabbed the control stick, cold jets activated to lift the dagger shaped craft straight up. The craft came off of the black topped tarmac a lot faster than anyone on this planet had seen before. Even then it was not as fast as the craft could have done during a Cylon attack.

For the next hour, the two craft were locked in close quarters aerial combat, each move called out like a championship football game to those stuck on the ground at the airport or in the local bars. Karma had spent almost fifteen years of his life in one type of cockpit or another. He was pulling out every trick he knew or even vaguely remembered from the few thousand briefings he had sat through. He had always had the tech edge flying through most of those years, ever since he left training behind him. Not this time, and so when those options failed him, he went to first the old school and then to very old school tactics after the new tactics failed him against the Viper.

He knocked off the rust from his time as an aggressor pilot and that still did not turn out any better for him. He tried staying high, and Hardball was all over him. He tried low and slow, and then low and fast but nothing worked against the Viper. He could not control any of the engagements this day. Karma's advanced radar could not track the other craft, or even see the thing. It could not even pick it up when it was only two miles away from him.

The only other tracking system he had was of the passive kind and they were very short ranged devices. They at least let him track the fleet footed craft as long as he could keep the passive system in the tracking envelope. The Viper was just too fast and too nimble for him. He was now on the deck where his F-35D was optimized to fight at, and he was still having his clock cleaned by the other craft.

Karma and his prototype fighter were coming up second best, and it was all out for the world to see in color and with a blow by blow description of the beating that they were receiving. He should have been mad, but he could not keep from smiling as she beat him move for move. He was smiling even as the G-suit squeezed him even harder as the G forces climbed and he could see the grey talking up more and more of his vision. He grunted and then pulled even harder. He could only gain a slight advantage when he went from high Gs to pulling negative Gs. Even then it did not last long.

* * *

The tower had to call them both three times on the radio before it sank in that their time was up. They broke off the last engagement just as the Viper got close enough to almost touch his left wing and headed back to the airfield and its very excited crowd. The Viper came in for a hover landing, and Hardball put her craft down within inches of where she had taken off from.

Karma, for his landing, used the whole runway for his roll out then used little shots of thrust from his engine to refine his heading to his assigned spot. He noticed as he parked that he was only a hair above the line where the Bitching Betty would have let him know about the low fuel state.

The crew chief was waiting with a few other ground crewmen. Once the craft's loud and very hot engine had shut down, they closed on the craft to hook up the tow cart and finish the placement of the fighter craft back into its display spot. Karma hit the switch and the canopy swung up on its forward mounted hinge as quiet as a thief. This let cool air hit him like a wave ice picks straight into his face.

All modern jets had climate control as standard fixtures in their cockpits, but combat flying was stressful. The human body burns up a truckload of calories in a dogfight, so the pilot sweats a lot even if the AC was blasting in his face at full power.

Karma was so worn out from the last hour of very high G flying, he barely had enough energy to pull himself out of the steaming hot cockpit. When he did make it physically down to the tarmac below him, his knees almost collapsed as every muscle in his very fit body told him that they were spent. He also would not have been surprised if he was leaving wet foot prints on the ground as he passed.

It felt as if all of his sweat was dripping off him and soaking through his flight and G-suit. So it was quite a surprise when someone came running up to him. He did not even notice until he felt the impact of the body against his. His mind had started to shut down, trying to recover from the abuse he had just subjected it to.

Seelix had been on the ground and out of her craft first of the pair of pilots. She passed her helmet over to Skulls who was waiting on the ground for her with a huge frown plastered on his face that she paid no heed to. When she saw that the cute pilot had finally exited his craft, she bolted his way in a blurring motion of moving legs. She literally jumped into his arms in front of the gods and everyone from three meters away. She did not care one little bit what other people might be thinking about her actions.

Karma had his hands full of a wet haired woman that was in his arms before his mind could react to the event. She was kissing him and squealing like a little girl. All as she kicked her legs like a schoolgirl being asked by the star football player to dance her very first dance. He had no idea what she was saying, but she seemed very happy. And even wet with sweat from head to as far as he could tell feet, she still looked very hot to his eyes.

When he put her down, he could see how sweaty she was also, so that was something of a consolation. It proved that she had to have worked very hard during the fight to beat him. It had not been as easy as he had thought to clean the skies with him and his top of the line fighter. He had made her work hard to finish the job she had done to him in the skies.

She jabbered in her language a bit more before stopping, then with a look at him she said two words in English. "Again, soon?" She added a slight side tilt of her head to her words.

The tone for the last word let him know that she was not sure they might not be able to get away with what they had done again. He did not know either if he would still be a fighter pilot by this time tomorrow. What he did know was that he did not care. Was it the flying? Or was it because of the woman in his arms? That was going to take some thinking on to find out why he did not care at the moment if he ever flew again.

Captain Lorence's crew chief came to his rescue with a pad of paper that was used up write up identified issues - a vital task when you are a test pilot - and a red ink pen. He quickly wrote a note, ripped it out of the pad and passed it to the wet haired woman who was now bobbing up and down with a barely controlled energy that Karma was starting to wish he had some of.

Hardball took the sheet of paper to read, but it only had a few words written in a shaky handwriting. "I would love to, but I will have to clear it with boss first. They might not let me. Can we meet again?" She felt her heart to skip a beat. It would seem that he was interested in her. This was a good day! Now she just needed to see how she could work out a way to spend some time with him off the flight line. Maybe a more private setting would be better.

Hardball gave him a smile that made part of Karma's body feel a lot less tired, and a double thumbs up. That is, just before she was quickly disappearing back into the crowd. The American crew chief grabbed Karma by the arm with a very tight grip, and quickly led him to an open sided tent well out of sight of the crowd. The tent was the one they had been using to keep the ground crews out of the sun and out of sight of the locals.

When they were all safely out of sight from the crowd and as soon as he stopped moving, the ground crew was helping the Captain out of the G-suit. He had been wearing it more as a status symbol than anything in the bar. Now he was glad he had worn the hot clothing when he left the display area and even happier to have it removed from his body. The hot and wet G-suit was not all the way off before a medic came up and started checking his vitals. The medic was a little pissed and was rougher than normal at taking those readings but Karma did not notice a thing.

It was all part of a test pilot's job after undergoing some hard flying in an experimental aircraft. No one could talk to him till a long and well established check list was complete. That also happened to include a very angry Lieutenant Colonel who was standing only five feet from him in the same tent.

Karma had figured he would have about a half hour to a full hour's reprieve from the dressing down waiting on him from that officer. Karma kept his face calm so as not to make what was coming that much worse. This quiet time also gave him some time to think about what he had done, and why he had done it. That did not mean that he would have changed any one of the decisions he had made in the last few hours. He was single, and he had not wasted his paychecks. The worse that would happen, he hoped, was that he would have to find a new job in six or eight months.

The Colonel, who was cooling his heels, was in charge of all US personnel at this airshow. He was not a test pilot, he was a staff officer. He had come up through a different career path in the Air Force. He had been briefed on the procedures that had to be followed to the letter after every flight of this prototype fighter. He knew that he could lose his job if he violated those rules. That just made him madder and madder as he waited to take a strip off the test pilot's backside.

It was almost too much to ask someone to endure. After about fifteen minutes of waiting he felt that he was about to explode and the check list was still being done. So he turned and left the tent to check out the hundred and ninety million dollar prototype fighter. The one that he was sure was damaged somehow by what this young pup had just done.

When he came to the craft and stopped to look around the sleek and expensive looking weapon, the first thing he noticed was that the movable privacy curtains were completely encircling the fighter. They were set so that the crowd could not peek through and maybe see something they should not on the prototype fighter. It was a standard practice used by all of the major and not so major aerospace players at any public display.

When he moved one of the covers partly aside to step inside, he got the second shock of the day. The fighter was literally covered in people, all wearing white lab coats of one kind or another. They were hanging out of bays, had open panels, and over a dozen laptops hooked up and checking out the craft from as many different locations around the plane.

The Colonel had no idea what they were doing or why. So he just watched them as they worked for a good bit. Amazingly he felt himself relax as he watched all of those people working with a drive that surprised him to his core. Until today, he had only seen the tech support move at a steady and a lot slower pace than he was used to dealing with in the military. Here they were almost running around, and they had huge smiles on their faces.

This F-35D was an early prototype, so it did not have the ability to carry any real weapons in its internal weapons bays. What it did have in those bays instead were sensors that recorded everything within at least twenty miles of the fighter on their own independent systems. They also had recorded what the aircraft's systems had picked up on top of what they themselves had detected in the local environment.

The technical support team now had more detailed information about the Colonial Viper in an almost real combat situation than any ten different counties combined. It was a literal gold mine of data. No, it was a whole gold field of data. Other countries would kill thousands to have that kind of data. That is, if they knew about it in the first place. The screens now were very important, those and all of the Wi-Fi disabled laptops.

Eventually the head lab coat walked over to talk to the Colonel. It did not take her long to notice that the still fuming officer was standing at the nose of her project. She was smart enough about how people worked that she could tell what he was mad about. She could also tell that he did not understand what had happened under the skin of the craft. It only took her about ten minutes to give him an outline of the data they had recovered already.

The Lite Colonel nodded his head in understanding, but for some reason, he could not get his mouth to work. That might have been a very good thing. Contrary to what the movies might show, the US Air Force did not just give silver oak leaves to anyone.

Captain Lorence's eyes were drawn to the movement of the detachment commander leaving the tent. After he was done with the tests, sometime later, he stepped away from the people taking all of his vitals and now reviewing the data. He was more than a little surprised that the Lite Colonel was not still waiting for him as soon as he exited the tent.

Paul did not go looking for him, but instead walked around the area designated for Americans. After about an hour, he went back to his hotel. Maybe the boss was waiting there for him. The one thing that Paul was not going to do, was make an attempt to call him on his cell phone. He was planning on acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened and wait for someone to say something different. He figured if he needed to, he would just beg for forgiveness. He was too tired and just wanted a shower and a bed. Even a handy clear spot of asphalt would do for the latter.

* * *

A lot of hidden things were happening on the ground while the fireworks were going off overhead to signal the end of the airshow. This was the perfect time to take care of a few things that the American technical team did not want to do with too many eyes looking their way in a very public event. One was that all of the testing equipment had been removed from the fighter and carefully loaded into an unwindowed panel van. The newly loaded van then made a least time travel route to a waiting C-38 courier plane.

It took half an hour to unload the van and get all of the equipment through the small door of the military converted Gulfstream G100. Still, it was burning down the runway as soon as the airspace was clear of exploding multi colored paper bombs. It had places to go, and it was not going to spare the fuel to do it, going as fast as her twin Honeywell made turbofans could push her. The pilot had been given very pointed verbal orders. They were, "get there, fast".

The other movement was the now very happy, soon to be full bird Colonel telling the soon to be Major that he had done a great service to his country. That was also when he dropped the bad news on him, before the pilot's head got too big to make it through their home station's sliding hangar doors. Karma would not be catching that stunt ride he had been planning on in the morning on the old warbird.

He was going to have to stay awake for a while for his very long and overdue debriefing. Karma was not that disappointed about missing a ride in the little stunt plane. He was so worn out from his last flight that he doubted he would have the energy or muscle strength left to enjoy the experience. He was not looking forward to the upcoming debriefing, but it was a small price to pay for what he had been able to do. He might have a frown on his face but inside he was still doing a little dance. He was even able to get a two hour nap in before the game of twenty thousand questions started.

The international communication lines were also at maxed throughput from the time the fireworks stated popping until dawn the next day. These were almost exclusively underwater trunk lines that were being over used. Those were harder to intercept than radio or microwave transmission. These people were training the field craft of espionage to a very high skill set, and they knew that their normal adversaries were very technically adept at counter espionage. What they were talking about tonight were things no one wanted unknown ears to hear.

The key topics passing through those underwater lines were the power of even the small hand held weapons that the Colonials were packing. There had been almost hourly reports going out mostly about the armor display, but the use of an alien weapon? That had not been expected or even thought about by most of the agents. Well, maybe a few people sitting around the smoking area shooting the breeze might have thought about it but it had not made any official reports or briefs until that day that reality had hit them square in the face.

China and Russian had both invested heavily over the last decade into lightweight, but very strong armors. That was on top of things like reactive armor and active and passive defensive systems for high value battlefield systems. It now looked like it might have been wasted effort, time, and very hard to find money. So far no one had seen any heavy weapons, like tanks or armored cars in use by the Colonials.

It was anyone's guess if they even had things like that. Many times it was pointed out that they were refugees, so they might not have any of those items when they ran away from their old homes. The general idea agreed upon by many different people was that if they had had to choose between a combat tank and a dozen people, then they most likely chose to take the dozen people in those limited cargo holds.

The throughput devoted to the second key topic that was passing through those hard to intercept cable lines had only increased on the last day of the airshow. It was about the Colonial fighter. Russia and China were ranked one and two in the world for anti-air and ground-to-air missiles and supporting systems, but they mostly relied on different types of radars to guide those weapons to their given targets.

China had worked very hard to reach that position over the rest of the world's major players. By now the Chinese had a reputation for being the fastest at getting unique ideas into the field, faster than anyone else in the world. They could not make that many of the high end weapons, but they could do it if they felt the need to do so. Those weapons designers were now looking like all of their hard work might not be effective against these new power players. They did not have any hard data, but they had eyes and video recordings. The rumors only made them even less happy with all of their hard work.

They did not have all of the data that the Americans were holding, but everyone had more hard data than China had. They all knew that the missiles that those two producers and exporters needed radar to work. The radar allowed the missile to see its target. The more radar waves bounced back to the missile, the better it could see to hit the target. This airshow had added a marker of how hard it was to counter by using the known benchmark of the famous American made F-35. This alien craft had just beaten the pants off of it.

The other part of these new equations that they were going to have to look out for was the ability of their anti-fighter missiles to maneuver to chase a target that was trying to get away as well as this Viper could. The last marker they were going to have to re-examine was the speed at different altitudes. Thanks to computer hacks and other leaks, there was a lot of information certain state players could use to work out the baseline performance of the F-35. Right now, all of the raw data was indicating that BVR missiles were not going to be effective at even their minimum ranges. Heat seekers, on the other hand, still were being looked at as possible means of attack.


	26. Chapter 26 Look Who's Coming to Dinner

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 26: Look Who's Coming To Dinner**

Earth Early Feb 2019

The Australian government had not kept the naval mission to the Colonial controlled island secret, but they had not broadcasted it to the world either. Most intelligence agencies would have liked to have gotten that type of deal, but it was not to be. That was something that they were a little upset about. Then again, it was just to drop off the bartered payment for showing up at an airshow. That had not seemed like that big of a deal. They had been getting supply deliveries for months now, and nothing major had come of them.

That all changed when a pilot with a single handheld sidearm sized weapon had changed the world in just a few light pulls of a trigger. She had showed that these 'humans' could take out any infantry fighting vehicle or IFV, or any other small combat vehicle with a single shot. The cream in the coffee was that the same weapon had been able to punch through an armor plate that 40mm and 25 mm SLAP and HE rounds had only dented at very close range. Granted the dents had been deep, but they had not been able to overcome the armor plate.

That alone would have been enough for some governments to start more risky lines of investigation or intelligence gathering against these newcomers to the planet. When the Colonial Type Four craft, or as it was now known, the Viper, showed that it was not only hard to detect with space tracking radar but also the very best tactical ones, that was an issue. Although not that big of a surprise, if one thought about it for a few long seconds. They could travel the stars after all.

What was a shock was that that same space fighter could outfight the fighter most feared by others that called this planet home. On top of that, it had done it in an environment that Earth fighter had been built to operate in. Most designers had assumed that a craft built for space flight would not work that well in the thicker regions of the atmosphere near the surface of any given planet. That was what all of the best experts worldwide had sold to their bosses after the first sightings of the alien craft. They had been wrong, and the senior people in those jobs did not like it. Those senior people had told even more highly placed people those 'facts'.

The major powers and even the minor ones knew that a close ally of the United States was going to be sending a small warship to those islands. Those allies were going to be allowed landing or docking rights for their ship, and would be interacting with these alien humans at very close range. Most intelligence agencies knew about the target shooting. It had been mentioned in the contract. The contract that had to be filed as a matter of public record. So those same allies of the United States would most likely have additional first hand contact with those powerful weapons. They also might be able to find out what other kinds of weapons these alien like humans might have. That was priceless information, and a lot of people behind the scenes were wondering what was going to happen next.

Some groups were already mad about this before even adding the cherry on top of that ice cream sundae of fun. The US just had one of their prototype next generation fighters go head to head with one of the Colonial fighters. It had lost big time, but they had been able to do something that no other power on the planet had been able to do, and that was to test themselves against these new technologies of the aliens with their best.

In their eyes, the United States was getting access to the Colonials twice. So they saw it as a bias being applied against them by the aliens. It did not matter that it was a different country getting the second access. They were only viewed as clients of the more powerful nation. Some of those players were not going to let that last for long. The key players around the world did not like looking as if they were second to anyone. Much less to the United States, whom they felt was their historic enemy one way or the other. Different plans were started, and each had their own spin on how they were going to change things on the world stage.

The Russians had a strong background and a history of excellent use of what was called HUMINT. Everyone else in the world just called them spies. Other countries had their own strong suits. Skills which they had no problem using to get access to information if not real equipment that they wanted. All of those countries started the ball rolling to fill those intelligence needs within a day of the airshow ending.

What they did not know was that the United State was also activating its own plans to get better evaluations of the game changing technologies that were now on the planet and had just been exposed to the whole world. The espionage game just got a shot the size of the whole planet in the arm in less than forty-eight hours. It would take some time for plans to be put into motion for most of those countries, but some methods were quicker than others.

The operator of the West Pac Express had only the week before acquired two more Spearhead class ships same as the West Pac herself. They had been the T-EPF-1 and 2, and now they were called the M/V Spearhead and M/V Choclaw County. They were to help with the cargo transfers to the Colonial controlled islands. It was a nine hour long one way trip to drop off cargo to the island. There were half a dozen other companies offering to ship cargos to those islands. So far, the Colonials had turned them down flat.

They had been making supply runs every other day, as the ordered supplies came into Tahiti. So far, most of the orders by volume had been food, followed by the travel trailers. The third most popular type of supply item making the trip out was small lots of different types of high end steel or other structural items. The payments had been in refined metals, other hard to find ores, and finely cut gems.

Each of the two new ships only had a token CIA presence compared to the West Pac Express. That number was going to slowly grow as more and more people were trained for their cover roles. The older ship was still there, so they could and would shift some manpower to those two new boats. That was only part of The Company's plans.

It was going to take some planning and not some few high skills to pull off, but when the Bay class landing ship was scheduled to make landfall on the island, the West Pac would be in the same lagoon. Having some engine issues that would last for a few days. It was hoped that a few extra American cousins would be welcome at the cook out.

* * *

While everyone around the world were working on how to get closer to the Colonials, the Australian military collected the one sheet of very dented armor plating and the other one with a hole blasted into it. More than a few 'companies' had offered to buy the sheets, or the even part of the off world made sheets. Chairman Kobi had to turn all of them down.

Kobi rolled his eyes to look at the ceiling of his office. He was hoping that he could get to sleep in his own bed tonight. Then the phones started to ring in his office. Now his ears were hurting, and even though he hated using it, he had the speaker phone on after the fifth call. They were now on the twelfth.

"Sir! I know that you are offering my organisation a lot of money, Mr. Zhang, but I sold the two sheets to a buyer before the airshow had even started."

The voice on the other end of the line came across in clear Queen's English with just a hint of something else. "I know that the armor plates have not left the airshow grounds. It would seem to me that the sale has not been completed."

Kobi shook his head and rubbed his temples with his free hands, he had no idea how someone a few thousand miles away might know something like that. Not for the first time, he was thinking that he might be out of his depth playing some of these games. He took a few more seconds of quiet but deep breathing.

"I have not checked, so I don't know if the buyers have picked up their property for disposal. I have made a deal, and I will keep to it. We do not make a habit of breaking contracts. It is bad for business and my lawyers also don't like it."

The voice on the outer end sounded like they were also getting tired of the way this conversation was going, also. "Disposal, you say? Well if you do not want to sell it to me, how about you give me the name of who you sold it to? Then I can see if we can make an exchange of some kind that both of us can benefit from." The tone had shifted at the end to have a hint of a threat in it. It was like something out of a spy movie, and an old one at that.

Kobi's head snapped up and over to the only other person in the room. He was wearing a dress uniform of the ADF, one that fit like a glove and cost way more than what most officers could afford. The other person did not say a word. He only took a sip of lukewarm tea, and kept a steady eye on the office administrator. Kobi then looked down at the speaker phone like it was a bomb with a counter getting close to zero.

"I have advised the other dozen people who have called and asked about the same thing, the buyer asked that their company's name be kept confidential." Kobi's accent got heavier, as he grew more and more tired of this person.

When Kobi was finally able to end this call, he still had three more yellow lights of active lines waiting for him to personally address. He did not make it to his home that night, or for the next two nights after the airshow had closed. There was a senior military officer sitting in on each of the phone calls and for those days the only times he had to himself were when he went to the latrine. Also, the phone had been tapped and traced by the military intelligence service of his nation.

What Kobi and most others did not know was that the two sheets were already gone from the airfield. In their place, within the safe, were two expertly made copies of those sheets of metal, made of very normal navy aluminum with dents and discolorations in all of the right places. By the time that the first offshore front company had called Kobi, the tests were already well underway. They would go on day and night in a very well hidden facility retrofitted just for these tests and these two items. The first problem had been trying to cut the two pieces into smaller parts. That had not gone so well for the people with the cutting tools. In fact they had turned away every attempt to cut them all the way up to the use of hand held plasma torches. They had resisted the heavy weapons as well as they had the cutting tools. The thin plates had already been shown to resist hits all the way up to 40mm cannon rounds.

All of those shots had been recorded in detail and studied before they were eventually able to divide the sheets into segments that found three new homes. The resistance to everything up to 40mm rounds just meant that they could start with the big stuff. The public use of the captured RPG's and larger cannon armed wheeled vehicles had been vetoed by the senior political figures at the last minute. They had been worried about how it might play in the press. That had not stopped them from being used in those tests very far away from the press.

First the RPG-7 had blown a nice double thumb wide hole in the fresh armor plate. Next to be tested were both the sabot and HEAT rounds fired from a retired Leopard AS1. Both shots had punched nice holes in the plate at four hundred meters. After they had been put into a new set of testing rigs, they had been shot at by a newer M1A1 from the 1st Armored Regiment of the ADF. The holes had been a little bigger, but after the Leopard this was not a surprise. They did not have enough or large enough plates to test at any normal range the tanks normally were expected to fight. This did make some of the testers and their bosses sleep a little better.

The fact that the armor could be punched through using 'normal' weapons was viewed by some as good. These were people who did not understand weapons though. Those thin sheets were only defeated by using weapons that were both heavy and very expensive to have and keep in active inventory. Now the next set of tests was going to be to see how the metal did what it did.

While they were doing that, another and way larger group was going to see what the metal was made of. Making steel is a lot like baking a cake. One needed to not only know the different ingredients to make the thing, but also how much of each product to put in the recipe, and when to do it. Right now no one on this planet knew what the metal was even made of. Once they found that out, then they could work on trying to copy the recipe. There were going to be a lot of people who were not going to be getting a lot of sleep in the next months to years as they worked on the different possible recipes. Some of them even worked, but most did not.

* * *

It took the slow moving Bay class landing ship took almost ten days to reach the island with its mixed cargo of items for the Colonials. She had left the port only two days after the close of the airshow. Most of the landing ship's cargo area was taken up by the twenty-five twelve meter long campers, which they were to deliver stacked in special lifts. It also carried two newly refurbished M1A2 tanks, which had only just been adopted by the first Australian army units. They had only started being shipped in after the aliens first showed up. They also had three T-90 tanks that Russians were selling to anyone and everyone that the hard currency to buy them. They were not even bothering to look like they were going to ask questions about 'end users' statements'.

The T-14 Armata, now in full rate production thanks to the increased money pouring into defense spending, was starting to replace older tanks in the Russian inventory. At least they were going into the line units of the Russian ground forces. The excess tanks they were disposing, they were demanding top dollar for from other counties that wanted updated weapons. At least the ones that could not either make their own, or make enough of them to meet their own needs. The factory and the government were charging almost twice as much for the upgraded older generation main battle tank as they had only two years ago.

These T-90s were hulks, but they still had the almost all of the Kontakt-5 ERA armor plating still bolted onto their front lower hulls. They had been told to bring targets after all. They also had no idea what these humans considered a cook out, so they brought along items to maybe help out in making it into their style of cook out. That is, besides the beer they had been asked to bring along. They did bring lots of beer, lots and lots of different kinds of beer. It was a cook out after all.

HMAS Choules crossed the forty kilometer invisible line on the open ocean, and notified the Colonials that they were there. The trip out had been completed with no big issues noted by the crew as a whole. They had left Christchurch New Zealand without any fanfare, which was out of the ordinary for a warship leaving a friendly port. The commander of the ship knew that he owed his ex-wife big time for this. And he had no doubt that she would remind him of it every chance she got in the future. Their divorce had not been a bad one, as such things were measured.

They had just happened to be two Alpha types who spent a lot of time working and who also got married. It was no big surprise to most people who knew them that it had not worked out for them within a few years of the gold rings being exchanged. They were still friends to this day but each still loved having the other one owe them a good sized favor.

When all of this had started to be worked out, at first he thought she would be the one to owe him. That had quickly changed after he had agreed to help her little plan with the airshow. Maybe when all was said and done, he would try to get her to call it even the next time they had dinner together. Then again, she might have a point about this making his career. He was still not going to let it go that she had called his ship a cargo boat.

So far the only cause for concern that was not related to them, the ship, or others in their country was the presence of the three known intelligence gathering ships not that far away from his command. They had been following them for the last eleven hundred kilometers of open ocean. Not one of them had come any closer than thirty two kilometers to the Choules, but in an ocean this size and off the normal shipping lanes, that was very close.

It seemed to him that these three ships were not trying to hide. They also had not contacted the Bay class ship. They had pointed a lot of radar energy at him and at his ship from time to time. They had been hit with so much radar energy that the spy ships should have been able to read the number of filings in each crewman's head with the energy output. It had been that high, and at that short of a range. Every time someone from his crew had tried to raise them on the radio, there was no reply. That was not considered a very friendly act by most seafarers. He had reported each incident to his higher command.

The three ships were now dropping back from his ship, but he knew there was still at least one patrol plane back there somewhere, which had joined up in following his ship. It was flying very low to the water. He would bet his bottom dollar that it was trying to use the much larger radar signature of his ship to mask its approach to the islands. He also knew that an Australian P-8A patrol plane was due into the area in the next few minutes. He was hoping that it was going to be a surprise for whatever was trying to be sneaky. Even before the little show at the shooting range, he had not wanted to put his ship between the Colonials and anyone they were shooting at.

Captain George S. Rentz was also thinking about that hard copy report locked in his office safe. It had been for his eyes only, hand carried to his person only thirty minutes before the lines were hauled aboard and they left port for the last time. The instructions were simple when dealing with the file. Do not open it until five hundred kilometers out of the Colonial controlled harbor. He was also not mention the report or what was in it to anyone for the next decade, unless they were read into a special compartment of information. When the time came, he passed command to his first officer, and went to his office to reread the file one more time, now that they were closer to the alien controlled territory.

Captain Rentz untied the wax string closing the folder and started rereading it. It was a threat assessment of this mission he had volunteered for. He had seen the first one that was written before the airshow started. Back then, the mission was considered low to maybe medium risk to his ship and crew at most. Now it was well into the 'Why are we doing this,' level of risk. It was up there at the level of being ordered to take his ship into a category five typhoon while light on fuel. And the really bad part was that it had been his idea in the first place.

The Chinese had moved their only operational Type 096 nuclear-powered ballistic missile-carrying submarine into the area. It was very likely that this submarine was very close to his ship, right about now. It was known to be escorted by a third generation Type 095 attack submarine. The Russians had the newly commissioned Krasnoyarsk, a Yasen class attack boat in the area. The big brain people were thinking that it was mostly likely escorting a modified Oscar class under the name of Belgorod. The Russians also had broken loose four of their A-50Us and had moved them into the area. The Japanese were not being left out. The anti-submarine warfare people back home had picked up what they thought was the SS-507 Jinryū sneaking around the area. India also might have sent their one Akula class ship for good measure. Just to see what everyone else was doing.

None of those countries had sent a submarine out that far from home in decades, if ever. Rentz also knew that the Americans had rushed the Jimmy Carter, a member of the Seawolf class, to keep an eye on the other submarines. It would seem that after having proof about how outclassed anything that flew was by the Colonials, some of the power players were moving in a lot of subsurface assets into the area to help with some mental compensation.

The Royal Australian Navy was not sending any of her few large vessels into the area. They just did not have that many of the things in the first place. They also did not want to risk losing some if things heated up and went badly on short notice. He was on his own, in an unarmed ship, without even an escort of any kind from his own country. That is, besides a few unarmed passenger jets converted to patrol craft and high flying UAV. So far, it did not seem to some in the upper leadership that this was worth the risk. That might change in the near future, depending on how this cook out turned out. It sucked to be told and not told that you, your ship, and its crew were expendable. The really bad part was that this was not the first time something like this had happened to him or someone he knew and it would not be the last.

The captain kept all of this to himself as they slowly closed in on their destination. He tried to keep the stress from showing on him, but he suspected that both his second in command and the senior enlisted man on the ship knew something was bothering him. When he returned to the bridge, both men shot him sidelong looks, which he dismissed with a half wave of his arm. For the rest of the trip in, he did not wander far from the command center.

When the oddly shaped ship was about to cross the line marking thirty kilometers out from the entrance to the lagoon, new things started to happen and it was directed at them. This was when they received a message from the Colonials. The message was in English, and it was not unexpected in content and timing.

The Colonials would like to inspect his vessel for weapons before allowing it to continue and complete final docking on the main island. They asked for a list of weapons that the ship might be carrying in any way, shape or form. They did make a point to specify that they did not need a list of the ammunition the ship was carrying. This was pretty standard in some ports, like Japan, so the paperwork was already done and waiting to be transmitted back to the Colonials. The captain was wondering how it would go when they saw the line about the five tanks he was carrying on the list of weapons. He already had a message ready to go back if the question was asked, telling them that the three tanks were for targets and the other two were for shooting at the targets. He had been told that this should be enough to smooth any feathers.

He was surprised that the return message was so simply put. It had said that an inspection crew of four armed and armored troopers and two pilots was on the way. They would be landing in ten minutes on his ship's flat deck, which was aft of the main forward super structure. His eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw the time expected. Then he bellowed to be heard at the back of the CIC with ease.

"Radar! Do we have anything on the scopes?" Even to his own ear, the tone of his voice sounded frantic.

The radar operator jumped up and stated flipping through settings at his station. He went from close range search to long range and back again. "Sir! Both sea and air screens are clear out to twenty kilometers. We have a single contact at the twenty five click mark moving away from us. There are more reading at the edge of the air search range, but they are all AWAC's and stuff like that."

The captain nodded, and turned to the most senior enlisted person on board the ship. "Chief, we will be having an inspection team landing in less than ten minutes. And we are not tracking them on our systems. Tag! You're it, mate."

The ship's senior petty officer just looked his commander, and then turned on his heels. He left the bridge without saying another word. Before the hatch had completely closed behind the enlisted man, the captain could hear the words coming out of the boss NCO's mouth at volume. Very few of them had more than four letters, and all of them would not be printable in any medium known to man. The captain smiled to himself. The senior NCO hated inspection crews, and they did not have to be from other nations. It was the senior enlisted man's job to make sure they didn't break anything on his ship while they were looking for contraband. If they did find anything they should not have, it would be his ass, right along with whoever had been caught with the contraband.

The Raptor landed twelve minutes later. It did not show up on any of the radar scopes of the ship until it was slightly more than a kilometer away from his ship. The Colonials only used their hand built transponder device when they were approaching a national border or in space. They did not use it in their own controlled and patrolled areas. If somebody were in their waters, they had better play by their rules. The Type One craft, or Raptor as it was now known worldwide, was flying at wave top height at a few hundred kilometers per hour.

The angle sided craft came up off the port side of the ship, and slid around so that it could land on the open deck at the back of the ship. The Bay class did not normally carry a helicopter, but a cargo carrying one could land on the large flat deck she was fitted with. Even a large fully loaded Chinook with sling loads could be handled in that area without any difficulty. It was even possible for a temporary hangar to be erected behind the massive block of a forward super structure if needed. That part of the ship was also a very good windbreak for aircraft operation. This odd design feature had helped many times in the past. It helped when they were supporting some natural disaster somewhere at the edge of nowhere and they had nonmilitary pilots or low hour pilots trying to help save lives.

The gunmetal colored craft came to a hover, and set down on the ship that was moving in three dimensions all at once with apparent ease. The Colonials were even able to do this without a guide on the flat deck area. The captain could have chalked it up to luck, but after thinking about it, he marked it as a possible required skill of the pilot at the controls of the odd looking craft. He had no idea that over the last few months, all of the active duty Raptor crews had been reviewing Athena and Helo's old recorded data to practice this move.

The landing craft was solid looking and the captain hoped that deck would hold the mass of the craft without deforming. They might now know the local name of the craft, but that was about all they knew of the specifics of the craft. Rentz pulled out his field glass and played them across the scene below his perch on the bridge. He knew that there was a half dozen crewmembers also watching and more importantly expected to be writing reports with their own experience as the base line about what they were seeing.

A hatch opened on one side of the craft, and four people of unknown sex exited the craft. They were in what looked like black body armor that covered them from head to toe. They exited the craft from the hatch one at a time and walked down the low wing at a measured pace. They then made a light hop and were on the deck of his ship. The captain could see two more people in the craft sitting on his deck.

One was definitely the pilot, but after what he had seen on the news about what the one pilot had been able to do with her sidearm, well, he was not going to count them as noncombatants. He had no idea what the second person was. From where he or she was sitting, he did not think it was the co-pilot. He panned the glasses lower, and he noticed that the craft did not leave a hot spot on his deck. That was odd, and he made sure to take note of that fact. No hot engine exhaust for vertical lift. No rotor blades, or a ducted fan of any kind. Still, the craft was VTOL, and while small it was obviously not light.

Captain Rentz waited for the chief petty officer to bring the inspectors to the bridge, but they did not show. One second he was checking something out on one of the other bridge stations near his chair. The next thing he knew, the Raptor was zipping by the bridge on a heading or course that would take it back to the island. The first thing he had thought was something had gone very wrong with the inspection. But then, if something like that had happened, then the senior NCO would have let him know about it before it blew up as badly as it looked to have. He was watching the back end of alien small craft disappear into the distance at near the speed of sound. He only knew that something was wrong, or at least not normal.

Captain Rentz shot around his captain's chair at the fast walk and was just reaching for the One-MC to have the senior NCO called to the bridge. His hand stopped just short of the device, because in walked the very man he was about to call for. He was almost staggering and had a gobsmacked expression on his face. That is not the look he wanted to see on a man who had almost thirty years on the sea under his belt. Rentz felt his heart fall to his shoes at seeing the look.

He handed the captain a sheaf of ten pages with clipped edges on all four corners. The Chief Petty Officer did not say anything while the commander read the offered pages. He had already read them himself before coming up to the center of command for the ship. Those sheets covered the rules of the island. It was a lot like he had seen before, but the kicker was the last page. It said that any armed person that exited the ship must be escorted by one of the island's armed people at all times, or until otherwise instructed by the local Colonial commander.

The captain looked up at the still quiet petty officer who was watching his captain with that odd look on his face. The senior enlisted was not known for not talking. If he was not moving his lips every few minutes, then it was because he was asleep or something else along those lines, like drinking his tea. The captain was really starting to worry. What was going to happen next? Was the world about to freeze over?

"Okay Chief, what happened? Did everything go smoothly?"

There was more than a little concern in his voice as he tried to work out what might have happened below deck. During every other inspection in a third world port, they always wanted to see the ship's captain first off the landing boat. Most of the time it was just to show that he and his ship was under their power and not to forget it.

The ship's senior petty officer was old sea salt, with just over thirty years in Her Majesty's Navy. He had been around the world maybe a hundred times but probably more. There was not that much he had not seen, done or seen done at close hand by someone else. It took a lot to shock him. He had been shaken today, but now he had time to get his feet back under him. He did not want to lose anymore cred with the crew, much less his captain.

"Sir! They had a deck plan of our ship and used that to walk wherever they wanted to go. They checked the armory, engine room, the cargo hold, and the well deck." He took a second, but still had a pained expression on his face.

"They did not open one side door the entire time they were here. They would just keep checking out this notepad like computer, and then keep moving at a fast walk. They had no issues with the heavy tanks or ammunition pallets. I had the boys about ready to open each of the shipping containers so they could see inside without them having to slow down by cutting the seals. They were moving fast and their heads were on pivots the entire time. They were like a bloody SAS team or something."

The chief NCO took another breath and the captain took the opening without him talking to fill the air while he could. "Did they see something they didn't like and left?"

The chief petty officer shook his head side to side and his back got ruler straight. "No Sir! Everything is fine! They waved us off of opening the shipping containers. They just walked down each side of them. When they saw the pallet of beer that we had ready to offload first thing, one of them made an offhand comment in heavily accented English, so I think they meant it to be heard by us." The NCO made a sour face and started working up what looked like a good bit of spit.

 _"God this is like pulling teeth,"_ thought the landing ship's captain. "Okay Chief, what did they say?"

The senior enlisted now sounded genuinely hurt. Like someone had kicked him in the nuts, or some place equally as sensitive. "Sir, she said that we might need more beer. What if it was not a joke? If word got out to the rest of the fleet that we ran out of beer during a cook out where we were charged with bringing the drinks?"

The captain bit his lip to stop himself from saying the first thing that popped into this mind right off the bat as it were. Aussie men always tried to drink everyone else under the table with beer in various drinking contests around the world. It was just an accepted fact that if Aussies were going to show up, they had better not run out of things to drink, or it could get ugly. To have someone suggest that they, the Aussies, would come around light in that department, that was just one small step below fighting words.

The captain was glad that he had made sure to talk to command before leaving the last port. He had made sure that besides the one pallet of beer in the open, one of the twenty foot long shipping containers was filled with whatever beer was in the base's class 6, and had its own cooling unit mounted. That cooling unit had been running full bore ever since it was sealed before they left. He had kept that bit of information from this crew, and the container was listed as carrying food and cooking supplies in the manifest. This was to explain the cooling and power needed by the container. He did not want it to have an accident and pop open early on the cruise out here. It was not a lie. After all, beer was a food item. It was not possible to make a beer glaze without the beer to start it with. He thought that the deception would last at least until the inspection. He had even kept the information from everyone else on the whole ship at the private urging of the port commander.

The captain leaned closer to the older enlisted man so that his voice would not carry too far. "I have it covered, Chief. Red 4 should have enough to keep everyone happy. Even with what's left on the pallet."

He had been briefed on the number of people that normally were on the island at any one time at the last minute. This data was supplied by something that did not need air to support it, but it still was only a guess. George had taken that number and worked how much they would need if eighty percent of them were his countrymen. In the end, he had to settle just for cleaning out the base liquor store on the quiet one late afternoon.

The NCO's head rocked back a little, and then nodded up and down in little jerky movements. The senior enlisted man did not like it that his commander officer had seen an issue, one that he did not, and had already planned out a way to fix it. Then on top of those two insults, the older enlisted man had not found out about it.

"Good Show. I'll make sure it's the first one offloaded. That is, after we get the warm stuff pulled out." He wanted to say more, but he was too mad at himself. What if this got out to the other Master Chiefs? He would have to turn in his stripes. Or maybe it was time for him to get out if the skipper could get one over on him like this?

The captain had a few minutes to enjoy pulling one over on the NCO, but decided to be very careful. The NCO network could come back and bite an unwary officer if he played too cute with any one of them in the whole fleet. The smile was still hidden and the pep in his step was still there as Captain Rentz walked around the bridge. That is, until the radar contact was called out to the whole command staff.

"Radar contact! Surface contact change! Sierra 57 status update! Contact was moving at a steady fifteen knots. The speed started to steady climb, and then stopped and started to drift. It's right in the mouth of the lagoon access the small cargo ships have been using."

Before the captain could make it to the radar station, the radio started blasting on the overhead speaker. "Mayday! Mayday! This is West Pac Express on Guard. I have lost both banks of engines and we are adrift. I am requesting assistance. Any ship in the area, please respond."

The captain of the West Pac Express repeated this radio message twice more in rapid succession. This was the way it was supposed to be done so that other ships had time to find out what was going on. When they took a break in the broadcast, as they had been trained to do, and after giving the whole area an alert, the Australian ship contacted them back.

The young engineer replied before his commander could give him the orders. "West Pac, have you popped flares?" Pirates were not unknown in today's world. Military ships did not just blast out that they were around, more so very lightly armed military cargo ships. Not without knowing some more facts about who or what might be in trouble.

"Responding ship! We have popped two blue and one green flare, and we have sent a notification to the Colonials already but have not received a reply. Will you pop flares?" The voice on the other end was strong and had an air of command that could be felt over the airwaves.

One of the bridge lookouts put their eyes up to the massive spy glass mounted at a window, then nodded that she saw the three flares arcing through the air. Captain Rentz picked up the handheld mic and pushed the button to transmit. Before he spoke, he pointed his chin and one of the enlisted people pulled out a flare gun and loaded the device. Before closing the weapon up, he showed the color coded lid to his commander. The captain nodded that he saw the color band, and rekeyed the radio transmit button.

"West Pac Express, this is HMAS Choules. We will be in visual range of you any second now. We will be showing a single green flare. We will tow you back to the lagoon, but after that, it's up to the visitors."

The captain and most of the rest of the ship's crew knew about the ship called West Pac Express. The captain and one or two other special skills people on the ship had an idea of what the West Pac Express might be doing. They kept their thoughts in their own heads, but they were not buying the engine issue.

"Thanks, I do not want to put my ship on a reef. My company might not like that too much and look for a new master ticket holder." The voice came back over the speaker. He even sounded like he truly believed what he was saying.

The West Pac's timing had been off by about an hour. The plan had been for them to be farther out to sea when they lost all four engines. The Aussie ship would have been tied up and powered down for the rest of its stay. That way it would not have been able to help the cargo ship with her little problem. The original plan was for the West Pac to repair one engine in time and limp back to the lagoon under her own power a few hours later. The small cargo ship would then have asked for an empty berth on the same dock they had been using while the other engines were repaired. That is, until the other engines could be repaired of the very real looking damage. Unfortunately the device they had used to damage the engines had gone off early and a little too well for that plan to work out. The plan was that they were to expect to have a few someone elses check out the damage, so it had to be believable and more importantly realistic enough at least to cause a temporary engine failure.

After rigging a stern tow line to the civilian ship, the larger military ship pulled the lightly loaded cargo ship three kilometers back into the lagoon. The Australian ship did this before the command staff on the cargo ship was able to contact the Colonials. They were asked to help dock the troubled cargo ship near the deep water pier on the Sun Sail Marina side. The now attached pair of ships were pointedly told to not try for the larger ship docking area on the other side of the main island. Captain Rentz was impressed how fast the little cargo ship was able to rig the towing lines between the two ships. This was not the first time his ship had to do something like this but this cargo ship seemed to have a both a sharp and quick crew.

It was up to the senior petty officer to keep an eye on the tow lines, and it was the captain's job to keep both ships safe while they were under tow. The trip into the lagoon was not an issue. Unlike any other port of size in this part of the world, there were no other ships or boats to have to deal with in this lagoon. Not even a sail boat to be dodged. After clearing the reef and getting within a kilometer of the expected docking area, all the captain had to do was make sure the ship's sonar and depth finder were fully manned and in working order. He used them to keep both ships off the continuously moving sand bars. The warship's old nautical charts were updated as they made their way deeper into the Colonial territory at only thee knots of speed.

Once the West Pac Express was ready, the towing lines were removed and recovered by the warship. They were just thrown over the side of the cargo ship, with an attached set of buoy floats, and pulled by hand back onboard the warship. The cargo ship was designed to work in small ports without needing the support of a tug that might not be available. The cargo ship was able to safely make the last half kilometer to safely tie up to the dock. The cargo ship was now closer to the island, and out of the normal channel it used to unload its cargo on prior missions. She was running light and needed even less water to float than normal.

Once the cargo ship had moved out of the way from blocking the small channel, the sixteen thousand ton landing ship dock could make her way to her appointed docking area. Captain Rentz did not have a pilot for his docking either. He gave the proper orders and he spun his ship within her own length, so that his stern was now pointed to the dock. With some fine tuning from both the bow side thrusters and the aft mounted twin propulsion pods, he was able to guide his ship into alignment with very little wasted effort. This was where the ugly and massive superstructure came into good use. He had a clear line of sight to where he needed to go without the normal obstructions when he looked aft. It was a simple thing to work through, and soon the Aussie ship's stern landing ramp was secured to the dock. It was exactly the same area the West Pac had just used that very morning to offload her cargo. The warship was only two hours later than had been planned for when they had left her last port of call. Even today that was as close to spot on time as could be planned for.

* * *

The offloading of the large landing ship went very quickly. Almost as fast as the much smaller West Pac was when needing to empty her much smaller cargo area. This was for two main reasons. The first one was that the crew of the landing ship had done this type of offloading hundreds of times. Meaning they had moved heavy loads in a low support area so many times they could not count with an easy or accurate idea of the exact number. It was just another port and another mail delivery needing to be made. That on this one they would be able to have beer and a promised cookout when they were done with the work was just an added bonus. It helped to keep the hands and arms moving at a rapid pace.

The other reason for the rapid offloading was that the local Colonials had months of working with the West Pac and the two other Spearhead class vessels. Those new ships that had been taking turns running supplies from Tahiti out to them. So every one of the jetty crew knew the drill, and had done it enough times to get the skill up to an almost expert level.

The first items off the landing ship's short aft ramp were not the cargo containers full of food and other items. The Colonials had their own plans on what they wanted offloaded first, and they had conveyed this to the ship's commander. So the tow trucks with 5th wheeled campers attached to each moved off the ship first. Each of the long campers would head south after being pulled off of the stone pier loading area. They first would be parked along the side of the two lane road that headed south of the pier and went around the island.

A set of twenty five large red marks had been spaced out every few hundred feet, with a number painted on the dirt to separate and identify the marked sets. When one of the two tow vehicles the Aussies brought had their loads fully on the pier, the driver was handed a number and pointed the way to go. The driver would then only have to find his number marked on the side of the road, and put his trailer camper's back bumper near the bright red traffic cone straddling the thick red line.

The Colonials had done this before, but never with this many campers in one delivery. So the only problem with their current plans was that it would need to be scaled up. The rest of the day was spent unloading the campers and the operation went into the start of the night shift. Operations shut down for the day when the last towing vehicle made it back to the ship after dropping off its last fourteen meter long camper. Plans had been passed to the ship's captain that the cookout would be held the next evening, at the old restaurant that had once been called La Voile. It was noted in the official message that this location was within easy staggering distance of the ship for those who could not hold their beer. When the message was passed to the crew it caused some issues at the seeming challenge.

The second message came in after the information about the cookout had been passed to every crewmember on the small warship. In it, they were given directions to where the range was going to be set up. It was at an open field that had been cleared for a housing development that had not come to pass due to a downturn in the world economy. It was very near the island's only airport now turned spaceport. The cleared area was almost a half a kilometer long with a very tall rocky backstop. Behind that tall backstop was nothing but jungle going uphill. It would be enough to catch any stray rounds that missed the hard backstop.

The range was a bit on the short side compared to the normal range tanks and tank sized weapons used, but they would be shooting low, and it was close enough to be visible to a crowd of bystanders. The tank commanders might be a little concerned about how safe those bystanders might be for this shooting event. This information was a bit on the surprising side for the crew of the ship when they were updated on the next day's activities.

Captain Rentz and the rest of the senior staff under his command were standing around a full color printed image of a pair of islands spread out on the large navigation plotting table. The image had been taken from a commercial satellite less than two weeks ago. It was a huge map that took up most of the table. Each pixel of the massive printout was one meter of the ground. On the printed page were marks that had been added by his country's intelligence agencies. Today it had two new marks, ones that had caused more than a few eye brows to be raised.

Captain Rentz tapped his finger on the area of the map described in the last message from the Colonials. "So does that area look like it's workable, Major?"

The head of the ground forces was not in uniform. He tilted his head to one side and then gave a smirk. "I would have thought that they would want to set this little show away from the area that they've most heavily settled. We will have easy access to the brains and operations center for the whole island. It is a rather a nice place to put on a show. There is no way we could get away with something like this. The football moms would lose their mind the first time one of my boys hit the triggers."

The captain tapped the oddly colored map with his fingertip. "Chief, we have a location. Please work with the ground commander and take care of our end of things. I will send a message back to the Colonials letting them know we are game to use this location for a spot of shooting at some hard targets."

* * *

Not long after the sun had set and darkness had covered the island, the military ship closed up and locked up all of the hatches and landing ramps to the dock for the night. Only the night guards, deck watch, and a light bridge crew were left up to keep an eye on things. The alert crews on the ship were watching what was moving around them on both land and water. They could not see anything, but a few of them could feel eyes watching them back from the island. From the wood line and a few other areas, the ship was being watched by people in heavy battle armor and weapons that this planet had never seen before. This was the largest and most heavily armed group of locals ever allowed on these islands to date. The sudden breakdown of the small support and supply ship only added to the number of strangers on the island.

Unloading on the second day started on the dot at 0700 local. The long grey metal loading ramp hit the top of the stone and oddly paved dock just when the sun was clearing the horizon. Today was different because there were more people around, and most of them were just standing around talking on the offloading dock.

Those extra people were from the West Pac Express, tied down not too far away from the larger military ship on the same dock. It took people a while to realize what was different in the interactions. It was the senior NCO who brought it up to the warship's captain. The locals were speaking with a lot more English than they had at any other reported time in the intel estimates he been privy to.

Unknown to them the Admiral had decided that it was time to lift all of the restrictions on speaking the local language. It's hard to have a team building event if one group can't talk with the other people they want to have the team building event with. Bill thought they had been on Earth reasonably long enough to have picked up some things from the locals. The change had started the day the landing ship had docked but it had been so loud with all the trucks moving all around that no one had noticed. Now that more people were talking and the noise level was too low to drown out the conversations, it was easier to pick up the difference around the dock area. That did not mean that they were speaking without very thick odd accents.

The twenty foot long containers were offloaded first by a modified forklift, one that the Australian Navy had taken aboard the ship for this very task. The forklift attachment would latch onto the top pins on the rectangular metal box. These four pins were also used to lock them to the bottom of another container while carried on container ships. That was how they were loaded on the large container ships that moved cargo around the world. Those massive carriers stacked them up a dozen or more high, and with over tens of thousands of the metal boxes on each of the largest ships on this world's oceans.

Once the pins were locked, the forklift could lift the cargo container out of the ship with ease and then carry it about a half kilometer down the road to the old restaurant. There were only two of those specialty movers, so between the runs of the forklift, a lowboy trailer with a target tank rolled off the ship and started the three kilometer plus trip to the range for the main event. There just was not enough room to pack down another one of the specialty equipment. The weather was too unpredictable to have kept one tied down as excess cargo on the exposed flat deck of the ship.

The last two items to be offloaded from the LSD were the two fully operational and American built M1A2 main battle tanks. As soon as the first tank had pushed its nose out of the landing bay and on to the short ramp, two of the strangest trucks anyone on earth had ever seen came out from behind a half remodeled building and into full view on the main land.

They looked like a cross between an ATV, a jacked up pickup truck, and a weapons technical from some hellhole in Africa. It they had been normal armed Hiluxes, the Abrams would have eaten the both of them for lunch and look for something else in a heartbeat. After the air show a few weeks ago though, no one was going to take anything that might have any connections to these Colonials at face value.

Each tank had a front escort and a rear escort taking positions as soon as they left the dock and reached the main asphalt road supporting the island. The front escorts were smaller two man ATV's that still looked to be armed with some kind of light machine gun. The rear facing gunners made sure to not point the odd-looking weapon backwards at the Aussie crewed main battle tank. The strange wheeled vehicle that had dropped in behind each of the tanks though, had at least one of their weapons pointed right at the back of the seventy ton tanks.

When the group of ground vehicles got to the general area of the range, the lead tank's driver was able to see two metal poles freshly driven into the red colored dirt off to one side of the road. When the tank had progressed about sixty meters past first marker, the lead ATV stopped and its driver pointed to the other stick. That was the entry gate or controlled point of access to the heavy weapons range.

It looked very old tech. The marking poles were rusted and pitted from the local salt air and age.

The driver of each of the tanks followed the hardball road until it changed into softer dirt. It was a short trip to a pre-built U-shaped dirt berm that would obviously serve as the firing point. With their steeds in a nice resting place, the two crews exited their machines and locked their hatches behind them. They all thought that they would have to walk back to the ship, or maybe catch a ride on the back of those four strange and huge ATVs. The Colonials had a different idea all together.

The eight tankers were looking around the rain forest. The young captain was about to tell everyone to tighten their boots up and get ready to enjoy a little walk, when they heard a car horn beep twice on the hardball road, off to the side from their location. The eight of them shot a few quick glances at each other before they doubletimed it back up to the main road.

When the tankers cleared the last tree, they could see who it was still beeping the horn. It was a tall but very young man standing in the street. He was waving them towards a box shaped open topped thing that was sitting on the road. It looked like a sled, only without rails or wheels. When the eight troopers were close enough, they could tell that it had seats, just like a lot of the late 1970's Cadillac convertible sedans from back home. It did not take long for the eight tankers to get onboard. The stranger made sure that everyone had a safety belt on, then took his own seat in the open topped thing.

Kell gave the small group of military men an evil smile over his right shoulder before he started up the vehicle. They had no idea what they were about to experience and it showed on their faces. He gave them a big toothy grin and spoke to them in clear if oddly sounding English.

"Hang on." Before the tank crews could do anything beyond get over that he had said something in English, Kell activated the high tech safety harness with a flip of a switch.

Kell did not have many chances to drive one of the few hover cars known to exist, so he made the most of it every time he could get behind the wheel. He hit two or three more switches and the car rose a meter off the ground, a slight hum coming from its underside. The tankers on the either side of the metal box tried to look down to see what was going on as the metal sled rose.

Soon then they had more to worry about, because Kell hit the gas. In the space of a few seconds, they were up to ninety-six kilometers an hour in an open top car from hell. Kell took the scenic route, while the troopers in the back thought he was trying to kill them all. It did not take that long travelling at that speed to drive all around the whole island. The men in the back thought it was a lot longer than that until they made one last turn on the road.

Finally they could see the ugly form of their home away from home docked at the end of the pier. The ship they called home was not a pretty ship, and most thought of it as the ugliest ship in the whole fleet. Now that the tank crews could see it again, it was the prettiest ship in the world. They had also been so focused on surviving the ride that they had not been able to take one image along the long way around the island. They even would not be able to remember very many of the landmarks they had passed on the trip.

All work stopped, when the sound of the hover car made it to the ears of the people working the area of the loading jetty. It was not that loud of a sound, but it did not take long for people's eyes to be drawn to the movement. More than a few of them had been still talking about the two-different sized ATV's that had escorted the MBT's to the shooting range. Those had been the first land vehicles that anyone had seen on this island with any detail.

Then word quickly spread via handheld radios carried by the whole crew on what magic they were seeing coming down the road. More than a few personnel took out cameras and took quick snaps of what was coming towards them at speed.

On the bridge of the West Pac Express, a deck officer pulled out his very powerful wildlife camera. He burned through a massive solid-state storage chip as he took image after image of the floating apparition. He went through every filter the special camera had been outfitted with six months before. The removable data drive would be replaced and locked away with a similar one on which was stored images he had taken of the strange four wheeled armed escorts earlier in the day. Now it would seem that planning for this engine trouble had already started paying for itself. Things seemed to have finally started to move more rapidly.

Work on the pier came to a complete halt when the hover car made a sharp turn and drove towards the loading ramp of the ship at the end of the jetty. More than one hand went to empty holsters on hips, and then moved out of the way of the speeding object. A hundred sets of eyes watched as the floating box spun its axis. It then slowed down, coming to rest only about twenty feet from the ship's aft landing ramp.

When the death machine came to something of a stop, the eight tankers started coming out of the open top machine as fast as they could. They did not exit as fast as they should, it was as fast as they could. They were not worried about little things like landing on their feet or even dignity, as they did a Chinese fire drill out of the hovercar. They just wanted out! They did not care at the time that they just became the first persons born on this planet to ride on a real hovercar. Luckily there were images to prove what they had done. There were also a few images of them going about killing themselves getting out of the open topped transport.

When all of the eight tankers were out of the back of the sedan, the driver waved at the pile of uniformed bodies with a toothy grin. Then the blue hover car, which had not touched the ground, shot away from the group. It was hitting around ninety kilometers per hour from a dead stop in seconds. Only one of the eight tankers was able to get to his feet quickly enough to get a glimpse of the hover car before it made a turn and was lost from sight.

He was a 19-year-old tank driver. He had been the top street racer of his small town a few years ago. At least before he wrapped his Holden HK Monaro GTS around a tree. That had not gone over well with too many people in his hometown. He had joined the military to get out of there before he ended up in jail again for street racing. He still had bit of a wild streak and was not considered sane by most of the people in his unit, but he could drive. That was never in doubt by anyone who had seen him in action. He had even been able to remove all of the power governors on his tank engine without anyone noticing it before this trip came up.

Well, that was what he thought. A few people in his chain of command did know about the modifications. That was why he was on this mission, because of his out of the box thinking. He was making notes about everything a smart street racer might know about mass, wind resistance, horse power and a dozen other tech details the craft had just proven it could do.

The eight would be world renowned for their bravery in going on the world's first hovercar ride, until the images of them unassing the transport to fall on the stone pier made it to a few social media pages. They still got a lot of free drinks out of the ordeal no matter how they exited the off world made device. By the end of the year, those eight men were well known to two dozen different intelligence agencies. That was not a good thing for people of so low rank.

The day's work ended early and when it was done only a skeleton crew was left aboard the military landing ship. The number was about half the number of people standing watch when the ship was in a hostile port. The locals had been slow cooking a dozen large pigs taken from the two islands all day. The smell of the cooking meat was drifting all the way down to the two tied off ships for the last few hours. A few of the West Pac crew had already started drifting that way.

The smallest of the wild animals was over a hundred and fifty pounds of dressed weight, before it had started to be slow cooked. Local fruits had been collected and added to the rest of the food brought in by the West Pac and her sisters. When the cargo container holding the beer was opened, a cheer went up that should have been heard by all of the aircraft that were flying around the islands, put there by the local powers.

It was a rocking party with lots of hot food, music, and social lubricant passing around. There were some issues with the intercommunication at first, but nothing that could not be worked out. Charles was making his rounds around the cookout when his Colonial made secure communication device beeped in his pocket. It would seem that he was not going to be able to fully enjoy the first large scale meeting between these two branches of humanity after all.

It was a simple worded message sent from the small but growing operations center they had set up in the main airport building. They had picked up a contact that was crossing the forty kilometer mark at around fifty-nine thousand feet. This was the first overflight by a spy plane, or what the locals called a UAV in some time. The Colonials could not do anything to either of the overflying satellites, or the ones that were in higher orbit and stayed exactly in the same spot over the planet. The locals had a well-established procedure about them.

They could however, do something about this air breathing unmanned spy system that had intruded into their airspace. The people of this planet had rules saying they could not do anything about the satellites overhead. Overflying drones or other types of manned spy planes on the other hand, that was a completely different problem set to have to deal with. His people had already backtracked the flight path and had a good idea of who owned the device that had just violated the Colonial claimed airspace. Charles only sent a three letter code back to the operations center, and went back to walking around the mostly outdoor party he was trying his best to enjoy.

* * *

The Colonials had been having low to mid-level issues with cyber-attacks for some time now. They were not considered that big of an issue, and they had not done anything about them yet. That is, besides stopping those attacks cold before they could get anywhere. The strongest and most frequent of those attacks had been coming from the Chinese.

The lack of success had not gone over very well with the Chinese leadership. They were not used to these types of attacks not showing at least some result for their efforts. The higher Chinese leadership had been briefed that it would take weeks to maybe as long as nine months for them to penetrate these aliens' computer systems, especially after the first set had been blocked. The leadership decided that they could not wait for that length of time to pass. They quickly had to resort to a more direct approach to get some direct intelligence on these island and aliens, while their primary method built up a good head of steam to hopefully get even more data.

The Soaring Dragon UAV was China's answer to the American made RQ-4 Global Hawk, Triton or RQ-3 Dark Star. Except they had not been able to get the complete data on those American projects through their normal data mining operations. To get a working prototype, they had had to mix and match technologies from different companies and countries to get something that was at least close to what the American craft could do in the reports they had access to. It had taken a lot work, money, and time. And it still was not as good as the Global Hawk. However, it was better than anything else the Chinese had right now in the HALE or High Altitude Long Endurance unmanned vehicle category.

That alone was not enough to complete the mission which was demanded of it. A huge number of bribes had to be spread around that part of the world. All before the large craft was taken apart, packed down, and moved to a private landing strip that was close enough to the targets. From this forward and concealed location, it was deemed safe to operate, and they launched the drone. If all went to plan they should be able to recover it after a twelve hour mission. The data to be downloaded from the craft while in flight was to be bounced off two satellites back to the ground station on the mainland. All of this had taken a huge amount of money to accomplish in such a short amount of time.

The Soaring Dragon was not a small craft by any means such a craft could be measured by. The wingspan on this craft was longer than what was built into the latest generation of Boeing 737 jet liners. It did not have the same radar cross section as the average civilian jet liner though. This was due to what the drone was made of, and some other adjustments that had been made to the craft before it rolled out of the hangar. Still, it was by no means a stealth class system. With its flying height above the water, and its high-tech systems, it was simply a very high tech surveillance and reconnaissance system

It already had the islands in its sights when it reached the desired altitude. It had already started sending the data back to its masters. The data feed was sent up through the canoe like bulge that ran along the top of the craft to a civilian, but state-owned, satellite in geosynchronous orbit, and then over to a low earth orbit 'weather satellite'. From there it was sent down to a ground control station sitting in an airfield somewhere in southern China. The drone was to be on station and stay there all day before returning to its airfield. The mission it was flying was expected to be at least a dozen hours long. That was the plan, and most of the officers even thought that they could get that time and at least half a dozen more missions out of it. It should take that long before complaints accumulated to a point that they could no longer be ignored.

The drone operator was working his system just as he had been trained to do on a lower flying craft. He had no idea what was about to happen. The code Charles had sent to his command center had started a set of actions that had been pre-planned for some time. One of these was a message sent to a Raptor that was sitting in orbit high overhead under full stealth.

It did not take but a few seconds for the craft's DRADIS systems to find, and then lock on the drone with its weapons. One minute and thirty seconds after Charles had cleared the mission to proceed, two old Colonial built missiles launched from their pylons under the Colonial Raptor's wings. The Lighting-Javelins' seeker heads had no problem tracking the slower flying drone below the high flying craft.

The sudden appearance of the very hot plumes of the pair of missiles' exhaust was picked up by the higher orbiting satellites of many different countries. Those high orbiting satellites were able to track the twin hot tails as well as the heat from their impact on the slow and non-maneuvering target in the thin high atmosphere. These events were not only followed by military systems in orbit, but more than a few commercial satellites that happened to be looking the right way, at the right time, with the right types of sensors.

One second the ground base controllers were working the systems that made up the expensive high flying drone. The next second, all they had on their flat view screens was static. It would take the Chinese government and its military a few days to work out or be told what had happened to their two hundred and fifty million dollar drone. The one that had been flying so many thousands of kilometers away from any of their known bases. For the time being, the Colonials would not be saying anything about what they had done to the overflying unmanned spy plane that had violated their airspace.

The Chinese leadership was not happy with the information, or more importantly, the lack of information from their other spy planes. The data that was found did force the other world leaders to pull any efforts to do the same type of thing in a clandestine way. They were learning from the very expensive lesson that the Chinese had been given. The idea of flying drones over the islands had been put forward before by many intelligence agencies, and until then, they had been vetoed for one reason or the other. Reasons as varied as the countries that had thought about doing something similar.

Now that it had been proven that the Colonials would remove high flying craft from their airspace with almost contemptuous ease, it was looking to be a good way to lose a few hundred million dollars of aircraft very quickly. There were very few countries on this world that could afford to have that done too many times. It was not just the cost of replacing those assets, but the political cost of losing a capital asset.

The only people on the island who knew what had just happened were the ones not at tonight's big party. The brief flash of light of the Colonial weapons striking their target was too far away and too high for the party goers to see from the ground even if they had been looking up. It would not be until almost dawn that word would reach one or two officers on the West Pac. The news did come as a shock, almost as much of a shock as when word was sent back that no one on the island had known about the action happening around them while the barbecue was underway. The duty case officer would report back to the mainland that none of the Colonial craft had taken off from the nearby air or space base. Unlike what had happened with the two small boat attacks, the Colonials would not say a word or put out a press release about the shooting down of the spy plane.

* * *

The party went on for hours and everyone had a good time without having many problems that had not been expected or controlled. The Aussies and the Americans were surprised at how much the Colonials could put away between bites of food. They had no way of knowing that the only alcohol that the Colonials had to drink most years was a type of moonshine.

After years of that, beer was almost like water to most of them. It was with too much fanfare that the last case of beer was pulled from the shipping container just after they had started cutting up the meat. At least by this time the pallet full of beer had been judged the proper temperature to be drinkable by a civilized person. When the last of the revelers left the cook out, there was still half a pallet's worth of beer waiting to be opened. The Aussie tradition was safe after one very close call. Now it was time for the after party.

Most crews, from both ships, were allowed to sleep in the next morning. That is except for the small number of people that had to be on duty. Sometimes getting the short straw can be a very bad thing. The Colonials had learned their lessons from the past and very few of the on duty personnel were even a little hung over from the night before. Well, less than one in twenty, but that number was a lot better than most other militaries'. Like say the US. They could not claim that low a rate on most post holidays work calls. That was also something that many armies on this planet could boast even with units deployed in war zones. The morning started just like any other day for the Colonials living on this planet.

The range was open by the time the sun was directly overhead, and a good-sized crowd had formed up in the area. There were some Colonials, but mostly it was the people visiting the island who were walking around the soon to be range. Most seemed to be making last minute adjustments to the targets or the shooters. They had the three old Russian made MBT's, but those were not the only targets being set up on the dirt of the range.

They also had some metal targets set up as towed or mobile targets from the main tank training ranges in Australia. These were more for accuracy testing, as opposed to being just for testing if they were hard to kill or not. There were some large green tree trunks, anywhere from two feet around to almost seven feet around. The Colonials had also brought out some more armor plates, sisters to the ones they had showed off at the airshow not so long ago. The Colonials even had been able to buy and have shipped out an old stripped down American M113A2. It was surprising what can be found for sale on the grey market with enough money. It was only a metal hulk to be shot at, or maybe made into an artificial reef somewhere. All in all it was a heavy weapon shooting range with an amazing set of targets, and it would have done any firepower demonstration in the world proud.

Not everything going on behind the scenes for setting the range targets had been on the up and up, though. More to the point, things were not as the people from Earth were assuming. Charles, via orders straight from the older Adama, had not used any real Colonial armor plate. The targets at the airshow and at this range were from a bad batch of plates. One which had failed to meet the standards for use on Colonial military equipment.

They had been sat aside in case they might be useful for something else, maybe on one of the civilian ships. Now the Colonials had found a use for them. One which was a lot more productive than had been first thought of two years ago. When this planet had been found, and the tech level verified, Adama had had an idea of what they might be good for and how they could be useful for his people. Even if they had weak points randomly scattered around their surface.

The weapons laid out for everyone to use today were only a collection of Colonial made and supplied weapons. None of the weapons had any technology or connection to the Rifts Earth crews or any knowledge they might have. Adama and Laura did not want to give away every secret about the weapons and armor capabilities the Colonials and their friends could field to defend themselves with. Bill knew that things could still go sideways in any different number of ways.

The shooting event went on for hours, and it was all recorded in high definition by both the locals and the Colonials. The first part of the show was to let the visitors try out different weapons that had not been made on this planet. They would shoot once at each target, and then any of the interested group would walk down, as a group, and check out the damage done to a given target. Even the small and sleek looking Colonial CP M45 pistol had put a hole in the side hull of a T-90. One that a man's thumb could almost fit through. The explosive round that they fired from a little bigger CP M57 had hit a Kontakt-5 Explosive Reactive Armor block that had been sitting dead center on the turret glacis.

The turret glacis was the thickest and hardest to penetrate area on a modern tank, and the ERA only added to this capability. The HE filled round still had blown the multi ton turret clean off the tank's hull top from that one hit. That was not an uncommon event for Russian tanks, but only when they were carrying a combat load of fuel and ammunition. These hulks did not have anything explosive, like say fuel, ammunition or other volatiles. That is, other than the few dozen blocks of ERA on the outside of the tank.

The two tanks that were functional were allowed to shoot just before the Colonial weapons had blown all of the targets to scrap. Each of the M1's had fired two rounds at selected targets. One each of the newest version of HEAT round, and another for the newest telescoping depleted Uranium and Tungsten alloy APFSDS-T round. The ADF wanted to compare the damage profile between the different weapons compared to what the Colonials could do. It was an eye-opening experience for the tank crews and spectators.

The planet-based main battle tank weapons were barely able to match the damage caused by the handheld weapons of the Colonials. When the main battle tanks' 120mm cannons were turned on the off world made armor plate, they were able to make it through the double layer of 3mm plates just barely with both types of rounds. When they fired at three of the plates standing only seventy matters away, they did not make it through. Images of all the results were taken in complete view of everyone else at the range. A lot of people had a good time, and more than a few had their egos crushed at the event. A few drinks were passed around to the non-shooters as a good way to ease the sting some at the embarrassment.

* * *

When the sun started to set behind the shooters, and it was time to conclude the event, the tank crews took their tanks back to the ship. The three older Russian tanks were going to be dragged back up on the lowboy style trailers that had brought them out to be blown apart in the first place.

The Colonial Outpost or Trading Post was still very much a work in progress. There were still very few people living on the main island. This meant little need for little things like street lights. Or for that matter any lights outside of the visibly repaired homes slowly expanding from the central area that was the old airport. No one that was not a Colonial was invited into any of the buildings except the old restaurant that had been supporting the cookout. So, the range had to be closed and cleaned out by the time it was full dark.

The cleanup had all been part of the overall plan put together by the ADF leadership and intelligence agencies. The leadership wanted to get the target tanks back into the labs so that the people in the white coats could get a lot closer look at the damage done to them by the off world made weapons. It was hoped that this would help in efforts to replicate the weapons or their effects. The only thing was that no one back at the base had ever thought that the tanks would be this badly shot up.

Most of the time it was only parts and hunks of hull that could be put back on the heavy hauler trailers. The cargo deck crews on the LHD were going to have a major headache just trying to figure out how to keep the wreckage from shifting around the deck. That would have to be done before they left the safety of the lagoon. It had to be done because they would hit weather on the way back home and shifting cargo was known to sink ships, even with today's technologies.

Most of the crew from the two ships were back at the restaurant by the time it was full dark. Most were disappointed when they found out that they had run out of beer before it was full night. Blame was put on the HMAS Choules for not bringing enough beer for a few days. The chief NCO was not happy about being in port without at least a couple of pints to drink after dinner. And he did feel like it was his fault.

If the captain had not had the foresight to pack a full container van full of beer and hard liquor, it would have been very bad for the pride of his navy. The chief was already making plans for the next time they made this port call. He would bring enough beer for everyone to swim in their own private pool with. It never occurred to him that they might not be coming back to this outpost ever again. Without realizing it, he had found that this short stay had bumped this place into the top five port calls of all time.

After dinner and leftovers from the barbecue had been cleaned away, the locals brought out some of their home brew. A little had gone a long way, because these people did not cut their proof or temper it before pouring it into their bodies. It showed that they had no problem drinking 100 proof liquor in one-ounce shots. The chief petty officer thought that it could be used effectively as a jet fuel additive. At least now, he could understand why they could put the beer down in such large amounts and keep walking. It did not take his people long to show the Colonials how to cut the liquid fire with different fruit juices and odds and ends that were left in the cargo containers. It was that or burn out their throats.

He knew that he was going to have a hard time getting the rest of the chiefs' network to believe what he was going to be telling them when he got back to his home port. He was going to have to pass along to them that for any Aussie ship that stopped by, the chiefs were going to have to keep a sharp eye on how much their crews were drinking. What he would also be passing along, that is besides the stories about the weapons testing, was that everything else he had seen was also a bit primitive tech wise.

It was the little things, like latrines and kitchens. He had noticed that they were bare of anything close to modern devices. Much less ones that might have been built off world or alien. The Chief was looking deep into his now orange colored drink, getting his thoughts in line. Then he looked up when an opening door caught his attention.

Charles Bellamy entered the restaurant through a side entrance and quickly found the person he was looking for. The captain of the landing ship was his target tonight. Charles threaded his way through the crowd and came up behind his target without being noticed. He was used to moving through a ship that as a rule was more crowded than this room was.

"Captain George S. Rentz?"

Captain Rentz nearly jumped out of his skins when a person with one of the strangest English accents he had ever heard called out his name from right behind him. When he turned around to find out who the sneaky bugger was, he found himself face to face with the person everyone thought to be running this outpost. It was also assumed that he was a major player in the aliens' government.

Captain Rentz had to fight, but he put his work face back on. He nodded his head up and down as he made a note about how odd it was to hear his full name used. That was outside of a court of law, or promotion, or a Captain's Mass.

"Yes?"

"Charles Bellamy. I'm in charge of this trading mission and outpost," the thin man in a strange uniform stuck out his hand and was speaking oddly. "I wanted to thank you for bring our payment out to us. What do you think of the cookout and shooting range? Do you think your people enjoyed themselves?"

Charles was trying to get a better read on this ship commander. For some reason he could not bring himself to call or label this man Captain.

George had learned a bit about this person, and he had even typed up a report about him to give to his superiors. He knew that the Colonials liked it when you spoke straight to them and maintained eye contact. They also were a bit blunt, and did not mind it if you were also. They were a lot like the American military in a lot of ways, but also not like them in more than a few key ways.

"No problem, mate. Besides it gave us a chance to see some of your tech first hand. I can tell you that I bet I'll have a hundred requests to make a return trip out from my crew. That is, if you let us."

George let a broad smile come to his face, and his tone was light. He did not want to offend these people. Then again, he had been asked a pointed question, so why should he not return the favor.

"If you don't mind? I do have a question that's been bugging me since I read the first news reports about you having cargo shipped in."

Charles shook the outstretched hand one more time before letting the hand go. "I'm glad. We would like to have more people stop by, but we are very concerned with our safety, as I'm sure you're aware of."

Charles gave the ship master a smirk after letting go of the arm. "I would like you to come back. Mainly because we still need the other part of our payment for supporting the airshow. Having you bring it out saves us the cost of shipping them. After this, we will be taking things slowly for now, but you never know about later. Now, what's your question, Captain? You know if it covers something sensitive, I might not answer it." At little twinkle was his eyes.

Charles let a slight smile come on to his face. For some reason, he was starting to like this man. He had to put up a mental roadblock. He still had no idea if working with his country was a good idea or not. So far, they had been playing by the rules which had been set up. Besides, the beer had been frakking good. People who could make a good beer could not be all that bad.

George wanted to start slowly, but what he was about to ask had been killing him for months now. "I'm a navy man, both by nature and training. And I have worked a lot of support missions in my time. I noticed something about those campers. They have solar panels and batteries built into them, but not any type of natural gas hook ups or appliances. When I looked closer, the icebox and the cooking stoves are all rigged up for electricity to run them. Except the panels can't really supply enough power to support them that well. My other question is, why don't you use the pier over at Uturoa? You could move a lot more cargo at one time and it would be cheaper, in both shipping cost and time that is, if you used the bigger pier on the other side of the island."

Charles was still smiling. He thought to himself that this one was sharp. Maybe it was time to let some of their plans out to a limited audience. He did not say any of these thoughts aloud, not one word of it.

"That was very astute of you to notice that about the campers. We have a growing power infrastructure on the two planets we are primarily settling, but we do not have a compatible fuel for those items to operate off of, and we do not want to import it from this planet. Those twenty-five campers you brought, even as they are, will give twenty-five more families some homes to live in. Even if they are temporary homes that they have to stay in. It would have taken months to build that number of homes, and that is a hundred people that now are not living in tiny ships' cabins in orbit or in log cabins. As for why we don't use the other pier on this island, it's simple. It's for control. To not put too fine of a point on it, Captain, small ships mean small crews, and a lower threat that they might bring something hidden in their holds and that we might miss."

Charles gave the other naval commander another smile, and then got a slightly lost look in his eyes. He did not say anything for a few seconds, but when he was ready he made eye contact. "I will let you in on something which I know you will pass along to your superiors. If things work out, maybe in a year or two, then maybe we will open up that pier for more traffic. But right now, it's too much of a risk, at least with the way things are right now. My people have learned to be careful with anything that could be used against us."

George nodded his head, which said he understood what the other man was saying. He now was having to change his hats. Now, he was not a small ship's captain in a foreign land. Now he was a representative of his government, to a leader of another powerful government. Oh and it just happened to be a powerful government that was on another planet.

"That makes sense, to a point. I know my government would be happy to help in any way we can. And if it helps to open up trade with your government faster, well that would also make for some very happy people in my government." He did not say that it also would make a lot of their allies very happy.

George stopped talking and then tilted his head to one side, and gave the other man a strange look. "I must admit. Your command of English is surprisingly good for someone so new to its meaning and use."

Charles smiled, and he mentally referred to notes he had been given by one of the Admiral's staff members. "Thank you. We ran into a group that spoke it some time ago. They were stranded by what we call a Dimensional Rift on a cold wet planet which we found by accident. We did not even know about them. At least, not until they found us and made contact of their own free will. It was a bit of a shock for my people, since we had never met anyone, or at least any group, who did not know about the Colonies of Kobol where we came from."

George had not expected this conversation but he had been given a few cards by an ASIS individual just in case the opportunity presented itself. That was the main reason he was not being caught flatfooted by what he had just been given on a silver platter. He reached into his coat pocket, but he had something on his mind.

"Why did you show us those weapons and armor? It came across as a bit pre-planned to me. You did not just put this together. You seemed to have been waiting for the right time to pull this on someone." George had his own knowing smile on and his head did a slight shake.

Charles let the smile fall from his face some. "It was. We wanted to make a point on a few different things. We think that the Cylons will find this world. My President and our senior military leader both think it will be sooner rather than later. And you're a bit behind technology wise to be able to mount a defense against them. Also have you been watching the sale price of gold and other like metals on your world?"

George had his question cards out, but he had not looked at them yet. He had a questioning look on his face. "Yes, I have. I had investments for my retirement, so I keep an eye on things like that pretty closely. Since your people have come, the price of all investment metals has gone down between thirty to fourth percent from the historic prices listed on the week before you let us see you in orbit around the moon. Are you hinting that your people and your government are willing to sell weapons and armor plates to people or governments of this planet? How are you going to supply the world these things? And what's in it for you?" His tone was level, and it did not hold an ounce of threat. He was just asking a pointed question.

Charles gave a throaty laugh, which caused more than one set of eyes to turn their way. "Captain! We are working on populating two habitable planets. All while we are developing another whole solar system for mining and raw material support. We have less than a hundred thousand people to do all the required jobs. This world is the only world we can get any kind of support from. That is, beside what we escaped with. We could keep dumping gold on this world until it was worthless, but we need stuff. We are not going to supply this planet with all the weapons it needs or replace all that are floating around currently with our types of weapons.

Charles put both of his hands on his hips. "We will supply some weapons and ammunition, maybe many of them in the end, but for right now we are not going to be selling them. We are going to be offering them up for barter. Whoever comes up with the best deal on what my people need? They will win whatever it was that we are offering at the time. We do not think it right for us to set a price on something right now."

He could see the landing ship's captain wanting to jump in, but Charles was not ready to stop talking. He wanted to be as clear as he could. "Now, Captain, we are not talking about cases of thousands of weapons and millions of kilos of ammunition all hitting the market in one wave on Friday. We are talking about one or two weapons, because we want you to work out how to make them for yourselves. We're not worried about what you call copyrights on what we are offering for trade. If we put something up for trade, that means that we want you to start making your own some time in the future." Charles was not connecting all the dots. That was not his job. He was just giving an outline of what might happen in the future.

George had picked up on the 'what we are offering for trade' part of what the alien had said. He also caught that they were not worried about copyrights on some things, but he needed to pull the discussion to the list of items he had been asked to find out about. He would report what had just been said, but he only hoped that they were important. Someone with a lot higher pay grade had said those cards were important.

"I was given some questions to ask if I ran into any member of the Colonial leadership. I was told to make sure that I let that person know that we wanted to make sure that it was not going to cause any blow back. Do you mind me asking some of those to you?" The clip that held the cards also held a blue ink pen. George was already making a few notes, on the back of one of the cards. Mostly he was just checking a few blocks and marking the time and date, for now.

Charles had a fleeting urge to say no, but he did have a few minutes. "I have a few minutes, but I can only answer some items. I have a military superior and an elected leadership whom I must report to. Just like you have to. I believe your press is used to hearing a certain two word phrase."

George could tell the other man was painting an exit door when he saw it. He did not want to push but he had no idea if he would get a chance like this again. Besides, if he did well, maybe he would be the captain of the next ADF ship to come by. It just might jump start his career out of the rut. The one that it had been in for so many years.

"If you could at least pass along to your leadership the questions you are not comfortable with addressing, would that be acceptable?" When the other man nodded his head in agreement, the landing ship captain was ready.

"Thank you. The first item is that some of the academics would like to study your people more closely. Is there any way you could let them come out and set up shop on your island. Or maybe even let them go to your other solar systems?" George had a good feeling who in his government had come up with that question.

Charles smiled, this was a very tame question to be asked. "That is expected, and we have put some thought into this subject already. In a few months, we will let some people come out to the islands and that is far as they are going for now. There are some conditions that will have to be met first. One is that they will have to pay for their own way out here. They also have to bring everything out that they feel they will need. We will not support them in any way or function. That is in the works right now, but we have not released all of the details yet. They will have to apply on the web page when we are ready. We are setting up only one building for public use, no matter who they are. The applicants will have to tell us what they are studying, and how long they are going to stay on our islands. They are going to have to obey our laws or face the music as we see fit." Charles raised one eye brow to emphasize his last statement.

George looked at the next item on his list. "Okay? I will pass that along. Next on the list of twenty questions is about space. You seem to have cheap access to all regions of space. Would you be willing to help us access space as you do? The American and Russian Space agencies would love to check out some of your craft out a bit more closely. New Zealand and my country have been trying to set up space programs, but they are bloody expensive. So far we have only been able to launch a seventeen meter tall rocket with half ton payloads."

Charles did not know how to answer that one. "That is out of my area, Captain. I will say that right now, if there is an emergency in the local space, we might be able to help but that is not a blanket promise. As far as the ships used by my people are concerned, I will have to see but right now we need the ones we have on hand for our own defense. You never know when someone not invited might decide to do what you call a party crash."

The Colonial was quiet for a second. "We might be able to do something for schools, but not for any government or military organization. At least, not yet. I will have to also push this one higher up my food chain. They might decide I'm being too generous, or they might have other ideas."

George was only able to get a few more questions in before he could tell Charles was getting tired of it. The Australian Navy Captain thanked him for his time, and the two of them separated on good terms after the mini interrogation. Captain Rentz could not stay much longer, and both men had a lot of work to do before they could get any sleep that night.

* * *

Very early the next morning, before the sun even thought about rising above the water and the night was just about to turn from black to deep purple, the West Pac Express left the lagoon on her delayed return trip back to Tahiti. No one person on the military landing ship beyond a select few had any clue that it had been a spy ship, and it was leaving the harbor with almost as much information as the Aussie ship had. It was a good bet that they might have a little more information, but no one would know for years to come if that was true or not.

Captain Rentz finished typing up his first report before coming out to do his bridge shift. As soon as the sun was full up over the horizon, he would be taking his ship out and she would be starting her much longer journey home. It was going to be a longer trip than the one the West Pac Express was going to have to make. He was not allowed, by his written orders, to transmit any digital reports. That is, until he was at least a hundred kilometers from the Colonial claimed area. Moving at about twenty kilometers an hour, it was going to take some few hours. All of the reports that had been done over the last few days would have to sit in their digital outboxes for a bit longer. It was for security reasons. The naval leadership did not want to risk others on the planet finding out about what might be inside the hull of the underarmed landing ship.

It was after the captain had sent his messages and the ship's entertainment dish had been reactivated that the news hit the internet. Coming from a French news station, it rocked the world. That was when they first received word that a Chinese HALE or high altitude long endurance class drone had been shot down by the Colonials. The reason suggested by the news service for this action was that the high flying spy drone had entered the restricted airspace claimed by the Colonials without authorization.

The information was tagged on the internet, but it was an unidentified source that had given it out to the rest of the world. And no one was talking, or otherwise claiming to know about the source of the scoop. This started a reporter on the blood trail to find out if it was true or not. It had taken almost a full work day before someone from the US military had confirmed the core data. That core data said that a high flying long endurance drone had been shot down near the Colonial owned islands. The unnamed sources had suggested that interested parties might want to check the data downloads from some of the weather satellite companies. They might have caught something hot and bright.

China was silent, which did not help them one bit in the world-wide news cycle or the next few. The original information leak could have been from any of a dozen aircraft or ships that released the confirmation of the shooting down of the drone. What had happened was not uncommon in the world of tit for tat. This time, it was the Indian Navy who released the first recorded images and the hard data of the Colonial missiles hitting the Soaring Dragon at eighteen kilometers.

No one, not even most of the intelligence agencies, really knew why the Indian government released the news and data to the outside world. A few of the more astute military correspondents tended to put it down to India not liking the recent weapons and social deals between China and Pakistan. China had agreed to sell more high-end military equipment to that member of the 'Stan brotherhood on 'credit'.

Now the Chinese were going to ship updated and highly upgraded PL-12 Thunderbolts, otherwise known as Sino-AMRAAMs. These weapons would fit on most of the Pakistani Air Force's best aviation units with only a few modifications. No one would know for sure for a decade. It would only be when a senior military officer from that country published a book on the subject that the last major part of the story was confirmed. At least, in the eyes of most people who still remembered and cared about why this had happened.

Things were heating up quickly around the world, and some were wondering if a war might break out soon. One bit of good news that came out just as the Choules was tying up to a dock in her home port. NASA did a press released saying that they had contacted the Colonials. They were working a deal so that if the ISS had issues the Colonials could pull the crews off the station and bring them back planetside safely. The drop off point would be the at the Honolulu International airport on the Hawaiian Islands.

This seemingly simple single change in emergency procedure would let the station be manned with up to six people at all times. That is, instead of the three people that had been the norm for so many years. At least, after the American Space Shuttles had been semi-retired. It would start in about four months, when the next set of crews were scheduled to launch on a Russian made launcher to that lonely outpost. The crew would slowly grow to six astronauts on the station. This was going to increase the workload that the station would be able to accomplish. That bit of news rocked the scientific world, both in a good way and in a few bad ways. As it always did, it came down to who would be allowed to go into space and who would have to pay for it.

The landing ship came into port just as the sun was setting. It had been at sea for twenty long and stress filled days without break aside from the barbecue and drinking party on the one island. Almost a full month in total, and the world had changed a lot in that time. Many of the crew and passengers were looking forward to having some free time away from this metal hulled beast. Doing anything or nothing. As long as it was away from the ship, they did not care.

The original plan had been for the ship to make dock at sunrise. That way they would have better light to work with while they unloaded the ship. All that had changed after the Captain's report was read and then verified through pictures. That was about four days after leaving Colonial controlled waters. A half dozen different levels within the military and government had seen those reports. By then the list of questions had grown too long, and some intelligence analysts had had to do some hard thinking to address some issues. They now thought dark would be a better time to handle the project. In daylight everyone would be able to see what was going on.

The Captain had had to do some math, and only slowed the ship down by a single knot of speed to make the dock at the requested adjusted time. Rentz did not know until well into his debriefing that his little unarmed ship had been followed by at least four different submarines that had been confirmed. And none of those submarines flew the same flag as the little landing ship dock did.

The crew of the ship had not liked that they were not allowed to go home after their tasks were done. That was normal after a few months at sea or deployment. At first, the higher civilian command authority had wanted to bar the crews from letting their families know when they would be making port in the first place. It had taken the chief of the whole Australian Navy to veto that bit of jackassery. They would be released to see their families, but only after all port and post sea tasks had been done and the sun had risen the next morning. He stated that he did not want to lose a bunch of highly trained sailors just because they had car wrecks. All because they had fallen asleep at the wheels of their cars. That was the posted reason for the delay of releasing the crews.

It was a delay, but it was a lot more reasonable than the 'after all questions had been addressed by higher command' they had been told five days out of homeport. The low boy trailers were offloaded and given a heavy escort of MPs for each trailer as they left the port under cover of night. Everything else that needed to come off the ship, like the ADF Main Battle Tanks and empty container vans, went straight into a 'motor pool' during the rest of the night in a slow, but steady stream.

This 'motor pool' in the very busy ocean port was now under guard by a full mechanized infantry battalion at all times. Rumor had it that a second one was on the way, and would be there by dawn the next day. It was just another sign that things had changed while the LSD had been away from this port. For one of the few times in the history of this planet, the rumors had come up short. There were actually two more battalions on the way. A full brigade was tasked to protect the motor pool until the items had been dispersed to other undisclosed locations.


	27. Chapter 27 Breaking News

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 27: Breaking News**

Earth End of Feb 2019

Things were quiet for all of five days after HMAS Choules had finished being tied up to a quarry port and her crew released to spend some time with their families. Spirits were high among the members of the expedition who did not have families. They were treated to a lot of attention in the town. On the trip back home, all of the different types of videos had been transmitted back to ADF Headquarters. Some of these were edited and a three day or night press statement released out to the general population by the military public affairs office. It had been well received by most of the country's population. It showed that the Aussies and these aliens were having a good time. After all, they could not be bad if they loved a good barbie and beers. That might have been why the sudden change was such a shock.

It started with a minor but still breaking news story of a building exploding somewhere in China. It was soon pulled from all of the TV news channels for unknown reasons. Maybe it was considered a non-story. It might have stayed that way but for the World Wide Web, and soon the story had a bullet to push it on social media. Then it was back into the general news stations.

Amateur video showed a twelve story building off Datong Road, in a public mixed-use area of Pudong Township, within the larger city Shanghai. It showed, in hazy detail, that the building had been completely flattened. When the rest of the world's news channels picked it up again, then it got some longer legs at the last minute. A researcher from a cable news show remembered that area of Shanghai. They had done a news story about Chinese hacking a couple of years ago. The news team had backtracked the computer attack to that area, and the Chinese military and secret police had run them off. The old reporter had been able to pass on this bit of the story, with the limited video they had recovered, to his supervisor in the news room with very few stops.

At that point the story really exploded onto the worldwide news. The building that had been flattened belonged to PLA Unit 61398. This unit was known for hacking into foreign governments, military, and corporate computers and was suspected to have been active for a dozen years. These few lines of information lit a fire under the rest of the news services and even the political and opinion news shows picked up on what had happened.

A few days later a building in the outskirts of Moscow was flattened as well. This time, one overhead satellite had picked up a missile launch. The same satellite saw the explosion on the ground soon after the first heat bloom of what was assumed to be a missile launch was spotted. The craft that had launched the maybe missile had been very stealthy but it had pointed its nose down to launch the ground attack missile. The surveillance device had been able to get a lock on the hot triple engines before the craft radically changed its attitude again. Then it was gone from the detection devices' very limited field of view. After a lot of computer power applied to the images, and a few SWAGs (serous wild ass guesses) made by the image analysts, the finger was pointed at the two islands in the Pacific as the culprits. The next major problem after that was finding out the why of the attack.

In several government agencies and leadership buildings around the world, many meetings were being held and ideas kicked around on what to do with the information they had stumbled into. What they did not know was that Kathy and Boxey had hacked into a few emails and known about those meetings. They even had remote ears in more than one of those meetings happening in four different countries. The information those two collected was added to the ever increasing amounts of historical data on what those power players thought of and more importantly wanted from the Colonials.

* * *

Charles had passed word on to the Admiral about the increased hacking attempts after the drone had been shot down. It had gone out on one of the transports returning to the twin planet system that was the new home of the Colonial people. He had wanted to send one of the Raptors to take the message but with only two of those craft on Earth, it was just not possible. It was not life or death important after all. The alternative was only a few days wait while the Colonial ship finished loading its cargo.

He did not want to send half of his Raptors without knowing if he would need them locally. He also had no idea if he would get them back any time soon from the larger group of Colonials. The Rising Star had brought two special packages for the pilots, along with some additional weapons before it left with the message. She had not left with an empty hull, she had been filled with the trailers that had been dropped off by the Australian landing ship. She also was the first ship to come to this planet without a group of passengers on board aiming to use the island as a vacation spot. More and more of the Colonials were wanting to spend any and all of their downtime on one of the two new planets that they had come to claim as home. Earth had lost some of its allure for most of the Colonial population.

The special packages were older builds and both medium sized, but he was told that they were for emergency use only and not for trade. More to the point, they were not for trade yet. They had also been left some additional weapons. These were in the form of a case of a dozen each of the pistol models the Colonial Navy and Marines had favored as sidearms. Those were the CP M45 and CP M57. A case each of a dozen Colonial rifles and submachine guns completed the shipment. These weapons were all recovered from the bodies of Cylons on a planet very far away from this one.

Charles had been working on setting up how to best market the outdated weapons for some time now. It was well past time to start getting some use out of the mothballed captured weapons. He just wanted to get the most bang for his buck out of them. That was turning out to be harder than anyone had first thought it would be. There were so many moving parts to do this and raise the risk to those who lived on the island.

* * *

When the Rising Star popped into orbit over New Kobol four days after Charles hosted the Australians, her IFF transponders were already screaming out warnings as DRADIS energy washed over the lightly armed ship. Her captain quickly sent the right codes to the great Mercury Class Battlestar in a high guard orbit over the planet. The crew of the Rising Star might have been quick, but they were not quick enough to not get a pair of Vipers making a close pass over her hull. It was a pointed reminder to the ship's master that he might want to spend some time in training before they left this system again.

The Captain looked over to his second in command and gave a slight shrug before saying anything. "Well? It's nice to see that the military are not sleeping on the job."

The ship's XO had not been on this ship long. He had been the third officer on one of the container ships, but that ship was now out of operation. He was still getting used to this new commander and new ship. So far, he had not liked much of what he had seen. He was also wondering how long it was going to take before the new Military Resource Board decided they had a better person for the job. They had already replaced half a dozen command crews on the remaining active ships.

"So, who do we send the mail to? We have the Beast, the flagship, or Colonial One on the planet's surface."

The Captain made a face like he had been asked a stupid question. Then he raised an eyebrow after thinking the question over for a few seconds. That was a good question. If they had been back in Colonial space, they would have contacted a civilian port control. After the Cylons had attacked, everything had changed.

"Send everything to the flagship. I think most of it is for the Admiral. And if it's not, they will know who needs it, and they will have people to track down who needs it. We will stay right where we are until someone figures out what they want to do with our cargo."

The Rising Star would sit unmoving in that one spot in the sky while they waited to be told were to go next. The timing had been almost perfect for the locals in power on the ground below them. When word came up from the planet, her master was not surprised at the location he was told to land on. The surprise was that he was to lift again and sit down at a new location after the first stop. That second stop was one that was, as far as he knew, not a normal landing area. It was close to the heart of the growing main city of the Colonial people.

The captain of the ship gave the needed orders, and the ship shifted its orbit. It was now in a controlled fall from its place six hundred plus kilometers up. The arrowhead shaped ship was a well-loved craft. It was a very aerodynamic craft that always seemed to just look right as it came in for a landing. The helmswoman had been a part time Raptor pilot before the Cylons came. Now she was once more clocking hours in those craft on her off days from the slowly stabilizing navy. After the interface from orbit to the thicker air, she gave the craft a slight bank to her port side.

They were coming in over the ocean at a very low altitude and at a very slow speed. Their orders to make this approach had come with some detail. They were not flying over empty land. They were flying over eight dirt road connected clover leaf shaped housing areas. This was one of three such areas. The other two were filled with the fruits of the early trades with Earth, camper trailers on hard stands. Today's landing was going to be the largest single shipment of those new living spaces. A dozen new homes on a whole planet might not seem like much to some. Then again, they would not have been refugees fleeing for their lives.

The captain of the ship was about to reprimand the helm when he saw the crowd near his assigned landing site. "Well, frak. Looks like we're going to be on the evening news." The captain did not think that this was a good thing.

Laura Roslin was looking up as the arrowhead shaped ship did a final flare and settled into the marked landing area like a graceful bird. This landing area was a newly cleared out area that in the future was going to be turned into something useful. Though what that was she could not think of right now. They had a multi-staged plan for the area. What was here today might not be here in a couple of years as those plans moved to their succeeding phases.

The liner dropped its landing gear and came to a stop right on the mark that had been put on the ground in a bright color. She was not carrying that much in the way of crew or passengers compared to what she could do. Her forward located main cargo door opened, and from out of the wood line came a slightly modified Colonial cargo truck that had at one point belonged to the Cylons.

Laura could feel the cameras turn toward her. She now was on stage. "Today is a great day. This is the first part of the last shipment that was traded to our people. The cost for this dozen new homes? It was supplying some of our craft and personnel for an airshow. We are out some fuel, spare parts, and a few of our military pilots' time. We should have the rest of the first half of the trade by the end of the week." She had good timing and the first camper was coming off the converted liner.

Laura stopped talking as the first trailer came out of the medium sized liner. "What you are seeing, is that we are not using Rifter transports to move the trailer that will be home for a family. That is one of the cargo trucks that was taken from the Cylons on New Caprica a few years ago. It has been modified to run on wood alcohol instead of its normal fuel. The fuel was made by the distilling plant that was pulled off of the Lucky Find not long after we first landed. It will be up to full output in a few weeks. That will give us more support to speed up the building of our new city."

Laura had to spend almost half an hour more on briefing the gathered press. When the questions started tracking to other topics, Tory Foster ended the briefing. The pair were able to take one of the Raptors up to the flagship to have a meeting with the Admiral. They were going to discuss the set of messages that the outpost commander had sent, along with the supplies. That was what they were going to tell the press anyway, if any question was asked. In truth, she was planning to spend some off time with her man. It was not dinner and a movie night, but it would be as close as they could quickly come up with.

By the time twelve of the long trailers had been moved out of the cargo hold of the one-time passenger liner cum medical ship and set up in their assigned storage area, darkness had fallen. In the following days they would be placed into their new homes, and a new family or near family group would be assigned to each of them. When the second load lands, it would bring the last of the first twenty-five trailers. The first set would by then be filled with new occupants, and it would not be a news story any longer to the planet at large.

The liner lifted off of the hard packed dirt and rose into the air with very little sound or feeling of movement. It was only a short hop of a few dozen clicks. This offload would take some time, but they had all day to do it. There were only four machines on the planet capable of handling the massive beams of steel. They would be bodily picked up and offloaded. The steel would be later cut up and used in areas where their strength would not be overly abused. This load of steel would help the Colonials rebuild that much faster.

Without the Earth made equipment on the outpost to help, it took longer to unload the ship than it did to load. Before the last load of steel was offloaded, an unscheduled Raptor left the flagship. It was gone in a flash of energy. Very few people knew where it might have gone to. If anyone had noticed or logged the event, they might have thought it was going to the system that was filled with rocks being mined by its slowly growing support station.

* * *

Twelve hours after the Rising Star left Earth, Charles was not that surprised when a Raptor jumped into high orbit around the planet. It had popped in the well mapped out location that had become known as the 'Entry Point'. The little Raptor did not burn towards the planet's surface. It just hung in place, within a few a few tens of meters of its arrival point. Instead of using fuel to land, it contacted the islands using a Colonial transmitter. The message was simple, and to the point. It was about you would expect to come from the Old Man.

"Outpost Actual, you have the ROE. If you can't defend your command, then let me know and I will find someone who can. Adama." The use of the last name was all the hint the islands needed to know that the Admiral was on this craft.

Charles read the message and passed it on to be logged as an official statement from his military superior. He had been expecting something like this, but his boss did not know about what might happen if he did what his Rules of Engagement told him to do on this planet. His message back to the Raptor that had sent it was prompt, it stayed in orbit less than five seconds, and just as concise.

"Outpost Actual copies. Will counter the first target within seventy-two hours after the Choules returns to port. I suggest a leadership statement be sent to the local leaders after the second target is hit. Outpost Actual out." Charles could feel the eyes of the command staff on him.

The Colonial small craft did not send a reply, and instead just stayed there for a few minutes seemingly watching the planet below it. At a time of the senior person on the craft's discretion, it activated its jump engine, taking it to the star nearest to this life giving sun. At no time did the nine meter long craft contact anyone else on the planet.

With those simple words and short statements in the private exchange, this world started to change. All starting just before the Australian ship had been able to return to her home port. An avalanche can be started by a single misstep or the slightest shift of a single snowflake. This shift was going to be started by something a lot more unsubtle than just a few hundred pounds of shifting snow or rock.

The attack was planned, reviewed, and re-planned. At the right time, a lone Raptor took off from the island without any lights. It was outfitted with full assault attachments when it took off from the island and flew in such a way as to make sure no one noticed it as it departed. This was only done through detailed planning, and a large dose of very high technology.

The slab-sided craft quickly went to about a hundred and sixty kilometers above the planet's surface after it had cleared the local area. Not one of the systems that had the island under surveillance noticed anything different. After the craft made it to the desired altitude, the Raptor adjusted its course to put it on a ballistic arc. It was now under very low power as it moved through the night.

Cylons would have had an issue tracking the scout/attack craft in its current operations mode, much less anyone using technology available to this planet. The target the Raptor was looking for tonight was in a city, surrounded by buildings. Those buildings ranged from schools to homes to small retail shops. It was not going to be an easy target to hit, much less find for any normal type of direct attack.

The weapon selected was a homemade device, and one that the Colonial Fleet had never seen before the Cylons had attacked. It had started life as a short-ranged smoke missile over a decade ago on a different planet. The Rifts Earth made missile had a very hard Von Karman style nose cone that would have little problem making it deep into the target building. The area that had once held the smoke making chemicals had been replaced with a locally inspired thermobaric warhead made on the island itself. Those born on this planet might be behind tech wise, but they had some interesting ideas on what weapons were needed to wage war with. Anything else in the Colonial arsenal might have taken the whole block around the target down as collateral damage. Even what Kelly and his people had might not be that effective at limiting collateral damage in a city. So a team on the island was assigned to work on the idea.

The Raptor's targeting system picked the specified twelve story building out from among the background clutter of the massive and brightly lit city. The missile leapt from its hardpoint under the right wing and in a flash of fire, it was running down towards the planet wrapped in darkness below. The motor on the small weapon burned out well short of the target but the speed the motor had given the falling weapon, well it was impressive. The Raptor was able to keep a lock on the falling weapon with its modified DRADIS systems.

Gravity added even more speed to the small device as six little side mounted fins made fine adjustments to keep its Cylon made seeker head on the target designated by its parent craft. The hard nose of the now very supersonic missile hit the twelve-story building dead center of its hard flat roof. The missile did not even notice that it had gone through a dozen feet of air conditioners and air handlers before it hit the concrete roof. The thin aluminum and copper just moved out of the way of the high-speed metal.

The internal timer started by the impact had been set for only a micro second before the warhead started to vent its payload for this game. In that short amount of time, the missile had already made it through four layers of four foot thick reinforced concrete and forty feet of real space. The missile's hard nose went through the hard concrete and steel reinforcement like a bullet through the air.

The hard missile made it all the way to the second basement before the second part of the warhead went and did its part of the mission. The second part of the warhead also had a two part reason to work for the mission to be successful. The first was to turn the missile body into dust, so that nothing would be found or reverse engineered by an enemy. The second reason, and it was the primary reason, had to do with the missile being a weapon of war. It was to detonate the first part of the warhead. That part that had been depositing its payload in every floor of the building after the first four floors were turned into new skylights by the missile's passing.

The warhead was not that powerful compared to even a normal Rifter warhead or Colonial weapon of the same size. The second warhead blew apart the missile body and the two basement levels of the building. This action succeeded in taking out the support structures for the tall concrete building. The high speed impulse traveled up the hole made by the missile, and the thermobaric part of the weapon did its job as the blast wave flowed upwards being fed by the first part of the warhead.

Before the building could even start to collapse due to the loss of the supporting columns in the basement, the upper floors were blown out in a massive flare of a red and orange ball of flame. The building was standing one second, and then in a blink of an eye, it was engulfed in a fireball and falling in on itself as another fireball went up into the warm night's air above the city. People eating at a nearby outdoor café had a front row seat of the largest single fireworks display in the history of the city.

The Raptor was already coasting just a little short of the planet's North Pole when the fireball reached toward the stars. It would soon apply some power to change its course towards the south and return to the Central Pacific as stealthily as it could. The total time the small craft was gone was only a little over three hours from takeoff to touch down. The craft put down next to the one hangar on the island, and it was quickly returned into the building out of sight of any overhead spy craft.

Charles just waited to see what would happen after word got out about the attack he had just ordered. He had expected to have some blowback very quickly, but it did not happen. In his mind's eye, his people were the obvious perpetrators for an attack like this. They had tried to be what the locals called stealthy, but he could not believe that fingers and lips would not start pointing their way and flapping. This planet had a very fast turnaround time for information and events. Charles himself had sent his own superiors a post-strike briefing within a few hours of the attack.

Boxey had found the location of the Chinese military cyberwarfare unit eleven months ago. The location itself was something of an open secret, being on dozens of news sites about the unit. Nevertheless Charles wanted to make sure they hit the right target rather than an elaborate decoy of some kind. Boxey and Kathy had tracked three different cyberattacks against them to that same building. Now the Colonials just had to wait to see what would happen next. The base was on high alert with weapons authorized and loaded for everyone on the island.

Nothing happened whatsoever. Eventually Charles went back to the normal tasks that his growing outpost needed him to pay attention to. Within a few days following the attack on the Chinese, they were attacked twice more over cyberspace. This time these were traced back to the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. Charles passed along his plan to attack this target to Admiral Adama. He did not get a reply at first. Then a few days later, he received another message through another Raptor. He was asked to wait until a third attack could be tracked to that location.

The difference for this mission was that this target was in the capital of a major world power. It was also in one of the FSB's main campuses of operations, not some outlying building somewhere. The target was both easier to hit, and a lot harder to hit at the same time. So the plan was to use a Viper as the attack craft instead of one of the few Raptors. Also, this time they would need to use one of the heavier warheads that could not fit on smaller and harder to track short ranged missiles. It was decided that the best weapon for the job was a medium class plasma warhead and would need to be launched by a Viper. That was what the analysis said was okay to use, and with Charles', both Adamas' and Laura's written approval, the go ahead was given. This time without the threat of being relieved. The reply came less than an hour after Charles had sent the message.

A Raptor would have been a better platform to launch the attack with, but Charles wanted them for a different mission. That meant only a single Viper MK VIIIC was going to be available for the mission. The Raptor crews had been training at targeting multiple targets at the same time. The Viper was best at one on one or even two on one combat engagements. It was what they had been designed to do and how they had evolved for a few generations.

The Raptors had been working on going against dozens of small threat targets at a time per craft. So Charles needed to keep them in close to defend against any possible attacks on the island. Especially, he thought, now that the element of surprise was gone. The Raptors had thick armored shells but the same was not true of the people living on the two islands. If a heavy strike made it all the way through to them and land on the island, the death toll would be bad for those people living there. So, it was up to a Viper to take on this mission. The islands' defenses would be centered on the alert gunship Raptors.

Charles was getting ready to launch the mission when the command center notified him that a Colonial cargo ship had arrived overhead earlier than expected. He did not want to launch an attack with too many lightly armed civilian ships on the island. Charles turned to one of the larger windows in the building and pulled out a set of old Colonial Military field glasses. After watching so many landings on this modified airport, he had very little issue finding the Colonial made spaceship coming in for a landing.

He was surprised to see the quarter kilometer long fish shaped passenger liner break through the clouds, and watched until it came to a stop at the center point of the old runway. He could just make out the old pitted and faded Pan Galactic logos on the exposed side of the craft. This was the largest ship to make landfall on the blue planet so far. And it was sure to have been noticed by a lot of the local power players all over the world as it cut through the air.

Charles kept watching as the passenger and cargo doors opened on the faded craft. Only about a hundred people out of what it could have carried before they found New Kobol would be on the craft. The leadership was trying keep it down to twenty-five families or so coming to live on the island at a time. Most would be living in one part of the now modified terminal building. The waiting list was getting shorter as more homes were repaired.

A lot of the Colonials were no longer comfortable that this Earth so different. They were adversely impacted that it was not like they had been hoping for in their dreams for so long. The political and news polls taken back with the rest of the Fleet in a different star system were more and more leaning in the same direction. That these two islands were going to be more of a trading and an R&R outpost than a center of Colonial population of any real size. It still would make it harder for any Cylons to wipe out what remained of Colonials of Kobol.

Charles returned to his desk. He had too much work to do to spend too much time standing around watching spaceships land. He had been expecting a smaller Colonial ship to arrive next week. The shipments coming into the island were landing between six hundred to a thousand tons almost every day. It was enough to let his people fill one of the smaller cargo ships in a few days. This new ship though would be able to take on a lot more cargo than they had ready to ship out. He did not need to watch as the sheet steel, steel I-beams, fresh grown food, frozen beef, and pork were all loaded onto the cargo holds of the newly arrived ship. The loading would start as soon as the ship's cargo master signaled to the cargo handlers standing near the entry road. The small tugs would start pulling the supplies towards the ship only after the signal was given.

When the Spearhead class transport came in tomorrow, it would be offloaded and anything that was not needed or ordered for the two islands would be loaded onto the spaceship as quickly as possible. Everything would be safer in the grounded spaceship than in any of the nearby makeshift storage yards in case of any problems that might have explosives in them. It they ran out of room before the ship's captain was ready to leave again, they always could unload some of the less fragile items later.

Charles was hip deep in paper work. So when the door opened to his office without knocking on the wooden door, it went unnoticed by him for a time. When his eye caught the movement of someone entering his office, his eyes came up and he was coming to attention before his forebrain told him that the Admiral had just walked in on him. He was caught flatfooted, and he felt like a schoolboy caught smoking by the headmaster in the latrine.

Bill Adama waved the other man to sit back down into his office chair. "Before you ask... No. I'm not here to relieve you of command." Before Bill could say more the other Colonial started to talk. Even after all of these years working together, Charles was still nervous around the Admiral. There were more than a few Colonials that thought that this man was the right hand of the Gods.

Charles's eyebrows closed in together on his forehead. "So why are you here, Sir? If not to relieve me of command?" He had been worried about sending the second message that he had sent, but he had reviewed his orders and that had seemed like the right move to make.

Bill let a smile cross his craggy face. "Look, Charles. You have done an amazing job here. If I relieved, you, the President would have the doc do a head examination on me. I know we have had some issues in the past, but look at what you've accomplished in less than twelve months. You have made a good-sized dual use spaceport and call it a mid-sized sea cargo handling facility out of the wilderness. How many buildings have you made ready for use or protected from storm damage?"

Charles's mind was in turmoil, so he went into facts mode to answer the Admiral. "Sir, we have five hundred buildings done today. And about five more should be done each week, until the list we supplied is finished. About a fifth of the total buildings on these two islands will have to be torn down to their foundations. After that, we can start building new ones to support our people."

Bill nodded his head. That was about what he had remembered from the last report Charles had filed. "So, besides getting this outpost up and running for independent operation as required... That is besides fuel, some spare parts, and ammunition... It is self-sufficient from the rest of the Colonials' support system, and every person under your authority here, everyone that you are able to support here, is one less we have to support on New Kobol or Macedonia."

An odd look crossed Bill's face, and was quickly gone. "Frak! The five hundred mobile housing units you've shipped out already are by themselves enough for me to keep you right where you are. Now add in all of the hand tools, steel, or just the frakking nails you have sent out for our people to use. You have done an amazing job! And that does not even count the food you've been able to ship out in every little square centimeter of free space you could find whenever a cargo ship leaves this planet."

The older Adama stopped talking, and let a friendly smile come to his face. "Charles, I'm your back up for afterwards, when you release or someone finds out about the attacks you're about to launch. The President agreed with you that we needed to have a leadership statement ready. I am the one that lost the bet, so here I am as that statement."

Bill just walked over and took a seat while Charles was doing the dead fish thing with his lips and worked on processing what the head of the Colonial military had just said. This was one of the parts of his job that he truly enjoyed. Bill knew that Charles was not the best at dealing with him. After everything that happened with Cain and the Cylon attacks, Charles had issues with Battlestar commanders as a rule. The bad part was that both Bill and Lee had not gone out of their way to correct the issue yet.

"What is the status of the second attack? When is it due to go in?" Bill was talking, but his mind was thinking just as fast as his mouth was moving. He had to get Charles back into the game before the younger man locked up on him.

Charles got his mental feet back under him and sat down, his mind a whirlwind. It took more than a few minutes for the fog to start to clear enough for him to start thinking clearly. "Sir, it was supposed to go today but when the liner jumped in, well, I suspended the next attack mission. I did not want to risk damage or the loss of a civilian ship if or when things went sideways. This attack is going against what they call a superpower on this planet."

Charles stopped taking, and he ran some mental numbers. He came up with something, then he re-ran the numbers and they came up the same. "I will be able to launch it as soon as the liner lifts off again. Say, within an hour of the liner's lifting off. I should not need to wait for her to reach even low orbit for it to be safe."

Bill nodded. "That was a good plan, and it was a smart move to delay the attack to protect our civilian assets. I should have let you know that I was coming before I jumped in on you. This is your command." This was the clue that the other boot was about was about to drop on someone. Bill was waving his hand around the room.

"But, I would suggest that you launch the mission now, if it's not too late? If anything comes back on you about risking a ship on the ground, well, that is what an Admiral is for." Bill had one corner of his lips turned up.

Charles had no idea why the Admiral would risk losing one of the few liners that had been modified for heavy cargo lifting. It had been chosen for its new job shortly after it was no longer needed to house part of their population. He looked down at his watch, that was just something he did out of habit, as his mind still was being overwhelmed.

"We can go at any time. I think we have two hours left in this window. We have about forty-five minutes until the next window after that." He stopped talking, and thought about some other ideas. Then he leaned over his recovered desk. He clicked a button on his nice desk that had been found in this very building. The windows were times when the most tech advanced spy satellite or surveillance planes were not on station around the islands.

"Hangar, this is Actual. Launch the mission. I say again, you're a green to go on this operation." He released the button on his desk and looked back over to his commanding officer.

"Sir? I'm still concerned about having an under armed civilian ship on the ground. From what we have found in our data mining, the Russians are not known for worrying about small things like, you know, civilian deaths when they want to do something."

Charles was referring to several recent instances where most of the local governments used guided weapons to do a job. The Russians had no problem dropping explosives weapons without any of those systems needed to keep down the number of civilian casualties.

Bill Adama let his head rock back and a deep laugh left his lips to fill the room. "Charles, she is far from unarmed. She was fitted with a dozen of the old style point defense guns off one of the Battlestars, and a dozen twin pulse lasers are hidden in pop out turrets. We made sure that she also came with an updated DRADIS system to aim them effectively. She finished testing a few days ago. That's why she hasn't made a run here until now. I think she has more close in defense weapons than an early production Valkyrie class Battlestar. If anyone wants to come around and lob missiles at us, they are going to be in for a big surprise at what happens to them. Don't worry Charles. If something happens to the ship, it was my idea and the commander of that ship knows it. I have given him a set of written orders that say just that. They are written in the normal government speak." In fact, Bill was hoping that he could get a little real-world test of this ship. She was going to be used as the test bed for a new type of escort for the two Battlestars.

They were distracted for a second as the fully armed Viper launched and broke the sound barrier in less than thirty meters of air travel. It was not trying to be sneaky yet. Now all the command group had to do was wait for the fireworks to start. There was not going to be any communication with the Viper that had Hardball on its stick today. The last major task was the alert that was sounded throughout the island. The Colonials had done their homework. They would not be caught flatfooted and Pearl Harbored. The two Commanders left the main airport building and Charles took Bill on an impromptu tour of the main island. There was no reason not to take advantage of the overall military commander showing up onto the islands. It would be a little while before the attack went in anyway.

* * *

Hardball took the Viper up to around a hundred and sixty kilometers straight up, and then lined up for the proper ballistic track with a few quick flicks of her wrist. This adjustment would take her over her target, the city of Moscow. Once lined up, she cut all power to her craft and let it coast as quietly as it could. Hardball took the time to check out the view threw her slab-sided cockpit. When she had first been moved to this planet, the stars were just another set of stars. Now after limited time in 'space,' she could enjoy the amazing view this mission was giving her for a few hours.

When her internal navigation system told her she was close, she fired her small cold jets with little pops of thrust. Slowly, her nose pointed towards the dark ground one more time. Her Viper had a few modifications. Ones that they were still working to integrate into the rest of the fleet of defensive and attack small craft of the Colonial Navy.

She uncaged the Cylon-tech targeting system and let it look for its programmed target. They had a location locked down in both images and computer IP address or codes. The Cylon sensor was looking for a match to both of those conditions the humans had given it. When the Cylon made computer found what it was looking for, a beep and a light were supposed to activate in the cockpit of the Viper to let the operator know that it was ready to do its job. Then the Cylon computer would wait for what might or might not happen next.

Hardball waited and waited, until finally the light went red and the beep sounded in her helmet. She let her mind float into nothingness, and then the cockpit changed. The only emotion that showed was a slight tightening around her eyes, surprised that the system had worked. Her hand was lightning quick and her finger pulled the trigger mounted on the control stick of her craft.

The missile was off from under the right-wing mount as soon as the trigger went to its stop. It was flashing out into the dark and cold thin air around the Viper within a few microseconds of the trigger being pulled. The missile went from zero to eight hundred kilometers per hour in a fraction of a second, and it was diving fast towards the planet. The medium ranged missile would have only have had a sixty kilometer range if it had been fired on the surface of the planet. This was space however, and that was a lot different. So it kept its speed and gravity pulled it faster and faster as the seconds and feet ticked by. It was going to be a rod of the gods when it contacted its ground-based target.

The Cylon system mounted on the missile only had enough battery power to last between thirty to forty-five seconds. It held just enough energy to do the job today. The falling telephone pole only had to make a few adjustments in the thickening atmosphere. As it fell, the high speed winds in the upper atmosphere would try to push the falling weapon off target. The Cylon systems would not allow that one little bit, and the fat missile would gain more speed even with the increasing drag caused by the thicker air it was passing through at many times the speed of sound. It had a lot of speed when it was launched, close to twenty-four times the speed of sound at sea-level before the rocket motor died off.

The target was a hard building that had been built to withstand bombing attacks of most types. It was not hard enough to withstand a nuclear attack or strike, but it could handle the blast and radiation from tactical sized strikes two to three kilometers away. It was in the top fifty of the strongest surface buildings built on this world so far. That was not going to help it with what was on its way to say hi from high orbit tonight.

The building was only two storeys above ground, but had two additional levels extending out below the surrounding ground's surface. It actually went deeper than that, but those levels were storage and building support for nuclear, biological, chemical and other threats from the Cold War. The green roof was over three meters and had a thick covering of grass, bushes and dirt on the top of the hard thick concrete roof. This added both camouflage and protection to the building.

When the mixed tech Colonial missile hit the dirt of the green carpeted roof, it was quickly turned into a brown wave leaving its current elevation to fall down all four sides of the building. The first impact had only a very marginal effect on the off world made weapon. The thick top layer of concrete slowed the falling missile, but not enough. It went into the second layer of concrete, that one was just three meters thick. Then it went through yet another layer of reinforced concrete. This was the level that the missile wanted to be in. It was where the Cylon system said the computers that had attacked the computers on the island were located. Even as the missile found them they were still actively working on other attacks. This location was where the smoking and hot to the touch missile stopped from its long fall.

The medium class plasma warhead turned itself into a ball of fire. The temperature of this ball was hotter than the sun's core on its worst day. The ball of fire was going out about forty feet in every direction of the missile body. Whatever this fireball touched, it just turned to ash under the assault of the heat and flames. The computers, people, metal office fixtures, and even the concrete floor and ceiling were treated the same. They all turned to ash and transferred heat outward from the central fireball.

The blast wave killed sixty people in a blink of eye. It happened so fast that they did not feel pain much less know that they had died. The people in the rest of the building were not as lucky as those working in the lower part of the building. The whole first level of the basement flashed into a raging super-hot fire the likes that no one had seen or heard about before. Things that were normally not known to burn started to burn aggressively and put out a huge amount of toxic smoke and ash into the confines of the building.

Soon the whole building started to collapse into the ground and burn aggressively. The hole that the missile had made entering the building was now acting like a chimney feeding the fire oxygen and letting the smoke out. It also gave the fire a way to spread around the fire doors and blast doors that had tried to deploy or maybe contain this hell fire automatically. They did not work nearly as well as the worst estimates had predicted.

This time there were no images to make it onto the web to show what had happened. No one would take anything like a cellphone onto the grounds of the national headquarters for the FSB. Well, people could, but it would not be what could be called a career progressing day for the persons involved. Only a dozen people made it out of that building alive after the missile first contacted the dirt and plant covered roof. About twenty people were pulled out of the smoking wreckage later, but almost half did not live long after being pulled from that hell.

It would take months for the rest of the world to find out about the scale of this new attack. The United States and a handful of other countries had the capabilities to see what had happened in near real time. They would never say a word for fear of letting an enemy have a better idea of their spying capabilities. Some civilian imaging satellites did have close to some of the capabilities of those government satellites. This was where the first hint that something had happened would come from. That did not stop a lot of people guessing about the grisly details, but even a broken clock is right twice a day.

Hardball pulled her stick over to one side, and her craft's cold jets fired again. The nose of her craft came up and she added a bit of power and fuel to the three big engines. Now the Viper was heading for the North Pole of this planet, just another bit of space junk lost among many others. A few more cold jet bursts adjusted her trajectory so that she could then go down the right line of longitude. This new adjusted course would take her home the fastest.

When Charles Bellamy had approved this part of the mission plan, everything was good and she should have been able to make it home unseen by anyone born in this planet. What they did not know was that a massive solar ejection had been launched from the local star just before the mission had started. It would not hit the planet, but it was going to pass close enough to make a very impressive set of northern lights. These types of events are tracked by a not small set of avid fans, with a lot of homemade and off the shelf technology. That did not count the number of colleges that would have classes watching for any Aurora Borealis. These little things were the type of things that had sabotaged many a clandestine mission in the last fifty years.

A lot of people had come to describe tracking the Colonial Raptors and Vipers as a lot like tracking a hole in space. They had taken the figure of speech from the submarine community, who had used it to describe the difficulty in tracking the old Ohio class SSBN with another submarine. The term now was used any time someone had to find something that was made to be hard to detect. Needle in a haystack is just too hillbilly of a saying for people who had letters posted behind their family's name and or Ivy League educations.

When Hardball crossed the North Pole, she was picked up by a telescope that had been studying the Aurora Borealis in northern Alaska. They had no idea what it was at the time. It was nothing more than a black spot as it moved in front of the amazing colors from the Northern Lights. The information was noted, and it was posted or otherwise passed along to a long list of people. It was just that not many people believed it. The next place the Viper was spotted was farther south. This time, it was by an X-Ray radar that was feeding data to Kodiak Island's command and control center as well as to the newly updated space launch facility on the same island.

They also did not know what to make of the spot crossing their display screens, but the event was passed along to higher command 'Under The Mountain' well to the south of them. The third and last sighting of the black spot that night, was made from the Kwajalein atoll area. The atoll had been tracking Colonial craft almost from day one. It did not take but a few long seconds for them to realize that it was a Viper class craft flying nearby. They had no idea about the other sightings, or what had happened less than an hour before over Moscow. Again, the sighting was passed along to one central area. It would take some time before all the pieces were put together about the sighting of this one craft and people started to talk.

Charles and Bill went about their tasks that needed to be done on the island. This was not a vacation trip for the military commander. He was not going to leave until the converted passenger liner was filled with cargo or there was a reaction to the attack. When Boxey and Kathy passed along the message that the news about the attack in Moscow was about to break, Bill had them report to Charles' office and wait for them. They only needed to wait for a handful of minutes before the two leaders returned. The little meeting did not take long.

The Admiral told the two cyberspecialists to post a pre-recorded message from him on their website, but they were not to make any kind of announcement. No notices of any kind would be released just yet. If nothing came of the added information within a reasonable amount of time, then they would go with Plan B, on his or Charles's order.

When Bill Adama woke up from a good sleep in what the locals called a queen-sized bed, he was informed that no one had found his recorded statement yet. He was not happy and jumped right to Plan C. Plan C was not part of Charles's plan, this one was pure Adama. He ordered Kathy to send a copy to the top eight news services right when he came on duty after his long hot shower. He made sure that she supplied a translation. A copy went with each video, made the first night after the attack on the FSB cyberwarfare headquarters.

* * *

Ruth Almog was the editor for the London office of the BBC. She did not have a family, unless you called them news stories. The ones that she was the editor for, she thought of them as her real world children. She did not even have a cat or god forbid, a dog. When her laptop computer flashed an icon, one that said that she had an urgent email waiting for her attention, she was a little perplexed. The email was in a private folder reserved for internal communications, and she had just put the last story she had been waiting on to bed an hour ago. So why was someone sending her a work email? She could not help herself and went to look at the message that had just shown up. She could have just waited until tomorrow to open it, but her friends always had said that she was part cat. And everyone knows that curiosity is ingrained into the core of those furry little beasts.

Her hand had the email open before her brain caught up to the actions of her own hands. She had several things going for her that others in her type of job did not. One was that she was losing her eyesight. So, she had invested in a very good talk or read as you type software and had been using it for years now. It was so good, that it could even work in four different languages on the fly. She had no idea what the video was saying, but the attached document was in English, so the software kicked in at volume to read it to her as the video played on her screen.

"My name is Admiral Adama. This message, is a notification to this world. My forces were attacked by the military of China, twice now. The first time was by a high-flying drone. That, we shot down. Under your laws, it was within our rights to take this action. Next, they launched what you call a cyberattack against us. Both of these two events are considered acts of war by my people. We have therefore countered these attacks by respectively blowing the drone out of our airspace and launching an attack on the military unit that we have traced as the source of the cyberattack." He did not feel the need to tell the world that they had been fending off cyberattacks for months now.

"These events were followed by more computer attacks from the Russian Federal Security Service, and now we have taken care of that attack location just as we did the Chinese. The Colonial government will respond to any attack, with any force we deem that is right. We are not from your world, and we will be the group that decides what is right, wrong, and an appropriate response for our reactions. We will not jump through hoops like some countries on this planet have been forced to do."

"As the other consequence of those hostile actions, we will not trade with these two governments from now own. If we are attacked with a computer, we will attack back with something that has a bit more explosive power than dropping a computer on the attacker's foot. We do not care if it is from a house outside of Houston, or the school called MIT. We will retaliate against the offending parties for those hostile actions. My people have long memories and we do not forget easily. It has cost us too much blood in the past to have to deal with issues like this."

"I think that those two governments have not thought through how their actions would affect them. So far, we have only been buying items off the open market. That is about to change. We will be putting the first goods that are made by my people up for trade or barter at noon local time. All offers will be looked at, except for those offered by companies that are from those two countries." The gravelly voice stopped for a few seconds so that any listener would have time to think about what he had just said. This was not a dime he was dropping. He was dropping a bus on them.

"If companies think that they can buy something from us while acting as a front or straw buyer for those countries, those companies will not like what will happen to them. The least that will happen to them is that they will not be allowed to do business with the Colonial government for next the one hundred years. We don't play games. If you are aggressive to us? We will be aggressive right back. If you try to play games with us? We will play games back with you, and we will win those games."

"We want to be peaceful, but we will not be bullied or taken advantage of. We will also be starting to send notifications to the first ten scientists that they are welcome to come to our islands for interaction with my people. There will be no Russian or Chinese or any group with connections to them in this group. It will stay that way for now, and for the foreseeable future. As we are ready, and only on our time schedule, we will allow more people from your planet to come to our islands. If things work out, we will see what the next step will be."

"In the short time we have been on this planet. We have found that these two governments have a habit of denying when something bad happens to them. So, to make sure there is no doubt about what happened and that we did it to them..."

The talking man's image disappeared and was replaced by a very detailed image that was looking down at an odd angle. The image was of something passing over a coast line at high orbit. Even before the view zoomed in on the ball topped Oriental Pearl Tower, Ruth knew it was the city of Shanghai. She had spent some time in that city, over the last few decades. The image kept playing for another few seconds until the missile flashed into view on its way down to the back lit city that had millions of people living in it. The image did not stay locked on when the weapon hit the target, but there was no doubt about what happened to the target and who it had been.

The image was replaced with another video. This one was not as good as the first one, but it still was very good. It was a lot better than any spy plane video that had been leaked to the press over the last few years. The image started as a plain black screen before resolving into lines of light that became major highways as the focus got better by the second. Then a major ring road came into view. The image zoomed in, and a grainy image of a brightly lit Red Square was on the screen before the image zoomed back out. This was followed by a flash of bright light. A brief streak of light was heading to the dark ground in the center of the screen. Again, the image had not showed what the weapon hit, but it was all but certain that something had happened in or near Moscow. A date was posted on the image before the video stopped and went to a black screen.

Bill Adama's image was back on the screen, and he had an evil grin on his face. "I know that these two countries can put a lot of pressure on a lot of this planet's news services. So, I have an offer to make to those same news services. The first news services to break this recording will be invited to our outpost for a few days, and they can interview anyone that wants to talk to them in return. I also will allow two hours of interview time with me. Thank you for your time." The screen was blank again and the computer quiet.

Ruth was watching the hard faced man, but she already had the cell phone that was always sitting on the edge of her overloaded desk in her hand. She had seen many people, both men and women of this type. She thought that he had meant every word he had said in the message. All of her emails were on the company server. Ruth could access it anywhere in the building, and a few other places that she frequented.

With the easy accessibility to the news available on the World Wide Web, broadcast news was a dying art. But it you want to hit a lot of people, all at once, it was still the way to go while it was still alive. She had the head of this work shift's news broadcast on the phone before her legs had her almost out of her office door. By the time she was down the hall to the main broadcast studio, they had a notice of breaking news on the air.

At that point, the emailed video had been transferred to the news room. As the video played on the air, the announcer in the booth read the written document that had been attached to the core email. It was good enough for a breaking news event, even if it was not pretty. Ruth knew that sometimes it had to be done quickly and pretty could be taken care of later.

Her people were already working on polishing it up for a second run in ten minutes. They had already sent the whole package to the radio support team. It would be hitting those airwaves any minute now. A two-line statement about what the Colonials had claimed would be sitting over the RSS feed on every screen that had the BBC playing for the next hour. A copy was on the BBC's main news web page only seconds after they had started appearing on the live feed. It was a feat of management, and proof of the respect Ruth garnered with those in the building that no one had questioned her or even slowed down until it was already done. She wanted to win this race for a good sized list of reasons as long as her arm. She would worry about the cost later, like in a week or three.

BBC had made it as the first news company to broadcast by four whole and priceless minutes. They also gave the most complete information on what the Colonials had claimed to have done compared to the rest of the new services. Four minutes is a lifetime in the news business. Ruth was not sitting back and enjoying what she had done for her reputation and her company's. That is, as well as the bottom line of the BBC, Ruth was also still working on developing the story in any way that she could think of.

She was on the phone calling in every favor she had or could call in with a company called Digital Globe. She got them to shift the newest and most capable of their satellites in orbit. The use of Worldview 3 was not going to be cheap, but either by luck or the Colonials simply being very cagey, it was the only option. Worldview 4 would have been better, but it had failed in January. Fortunately, the older and slightly less capable satellite was near enough to the claimed target area in the few hours after she had gotten the email from the Colonial. It still was going to use up a lot of fuel to make the needed orbital shift to take the requested image.

Ruth had to promise on a recorded line that her company would agree to split the copyright revenue fifty-fifty with the imaging company for an image of a certain area. That was going to hurt, since the BBC was having to pay full price for the images in the first place. How it normally worked was that the imaging company charged someone for the use of the satellite but the buying company owned the copyright of the image taken by their company. She was about to back out of the deal, when two of the secondary screens in the broadcast booth came to life. They were showing competing news services, and now they were playing the same video that she had broken to the world. She was running out of time.

She knew that the BBC needed to stay in front of this story. So with a very heavy heart, she agreed to the deal. She was doing so without even being able to talk to the company's staff lawyers. That might not have been her best move, but it was the only one that she could see. When the phone call had ended, she started to have second thoughts about what she had just done. She was also starting to wonder if maybe she was going to have to retire. Chasing stories was called a young person's game for a reason.

Within a couple of minutes of the phone call having ended, high overhead and somewhere over the South Pacific Ocean, a six-thousand-pound satellite's thruster engine fired and used up almost a quarter of its remaining fuel supply to adjust its orbit. Unlike Colonial made thrusters that used cold gasses that were very hard to detect, these thrusters were firing off very, very hot and active gases.

In forty-five minutes or about half an orbit later, the satellite was taking images at its full rated data rate for the first time since it came on line for renting. It was pulling panchromatic imagery of 0.31m (12 in) resolution, in eight different areas or bands for multispectral imagery with 1.24m (4ft 1in) resolution, shortwave infrared imagery at 3.7m (12ft 2in) resolution, and even the CAVIS (Clouds, Aerosols, Vapors, Ice, and Snow) data at 30m (98ft) resolution was in full operation. Each of the black and white images taken was going to have each pixel of the image represent twelve inches of the ground.

The satellite was doing all of this from six hundred kilometers above the planet's surface. It was coming up from the south moving towards north and the ice flow that dominated that area of the planet. It would by accident almost follow the same path as the Viper had taken. That is, until it was over the planetary physical pole, at which point the craft would be coming down from the north, heading towards the Hudson Bay area with a data drive full of data.

The nearest downlink station for this satellite after overflying the Russian capital was outside of Winnipeg. It was just to the west of the satellite's orbital path and the data was packaged on the satellite ready to go as soon as the digital handshake was done. The data was sent down to the catching station, and a team of the best operators worked on the data as soon as it hit their servers. In less than an hour after the download from Worldview 3, the image data was sent to the BBC main office on the other side of the Atlantic. Even so, the rumors were flying faster than the real-world data packets.

Ruth was already on double overtime and everyone else had been called back into work. The BBC was going to come out smelling like a rose, or broke, but it would only be one of those outcomes. She had no idea which it was going to be until the head of the imagery department came running into the broadcast booth with a huge grin on his face. He was breathing so hard that he was having a hard time explaining the good news. After a few seconds of huffing and puffing, he just handed over the rolls of paper he had been carrying like a runner for the Olympic torch relay.

She unrolled a dozen prints. She quickly realized that they were all of the same area. The area was thought to be the FSB's Moscow Headquarters, and they matched the coordinates in the digital message that was making its way around the world. The first image was in black and white and was printed on a huge piece three by four meter glossy paper. Circled in red ink was a bombed-out building, and it was right outside of the massive city of Moscow.

Quickly she flipped to a second image, this one of a different scale. On it was another circle of red ink denoting what was supposed to be the same area, but in this image it was a green covered hill. The head of the imaging department walked her through the rest of the images, explaining each one. A third image was explained to be something called 31-centimeter scale image in black and white. It was the same sized paper, but a lot closer image than the first one had been. The last image was a color image and at a 2-meter imagery setting. It showed a building/bunker that looked like it was still burning or very hot on the insides. This was proof that the Colonial message had been nothing but the truth.

Retired General Robin Brims CB, CBE, DSO, and DL gave a low whistle as he looked at the image laid out on the work table. He did not even realize that he had done that. It was just a verbal clue to what everyone else was feeling at the same time.

Ruth looked towards the sound and over her half cut eye glasses. "Do our military advisors have something to add?" Ruth was tired and the tone she used was not the best, but it did have the effect that she needed.

Brims had seen the elephant in his time, and he let Ruth's tone slide off his back. He had been known to use that same tone when he had been up as long as she had been. "That roof is not for some green idea to protect the environment or living roof to feed anyone kind of deal. That is a cold war bunker, and the dirt works as concealment and to help counter bunker busters that might be used on it." He stopped there, but he knew a lot more about this type of building than the average civilian.

One of the talking heads who hoped to be moved higher up the food chain spoke up. All he accomplished was to show why he was a called a talking head. At least they said it behind his back. The tone was snide. He did not like the military and anyone that had been in the invasion of Iraq in particular. "So? They normally don't live up to the name."

The General looked down his nose at the talking head and his lips were thin. "This is not your normal sand box style bunker. This is a cold war special. It should be able to handle a close brush with a city killer and still be okay. It should have been proof against anything smaller than that. Has anyone talked to the geology department?" Brims shot a look towards Ruth before locking eyes with the talking head.

The talking head was now on the defensive, but did not back down from the ex-military commander. "Why would we want to do that? I doubt Moscow will say that the building was knocked down due to a seismic shock of some kind."

The General let a disdainful smile cross his face, and he copied Ruth's tone down to the letter. "Because little man, if you had the brains god gave a goose, you would know that when someone sets off a nuke, it causes a minor earthquake which can be backtracked very easily to its epicenter. You know, like how we knew whenever North Korea popped one off underground. It's not because we have a magic wand, little boy."

Ruth had to step in before things got out of hand. She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Damn. Your right! I forgot about them. Now we will know if the Colonials used a WMD or some other weapon that their technology allows them to make." Ruth was thinking that it was a new weapon put on display, one that had never been used on this planet. And just like the Viper and Raptors they flew, it was going to be a game changer for this planet.

The BBC had a dozen experts coming in an hour. They were going to be on the news shows to discuss the claims the Colonial Admiral had made. Ruth left a message that those experts needed to see the images before they went on the air. She also made sure that the earth sciences people were brought in and told why they were being brought in to the meeting. The little meeting broke up soon after and Ruth was called out of the room.

She had talked to the head of the broadcasting department. They were not going to put the geo-sciences people on just yet. They wanted to wait to let the competitors bring up that the Colonials had used a weapon of mass destruction. Those geo-sciences people would be a hammer to show that the BBC was the place to get true facts about news and not guessing games.

China and Russia had both come out on different news stations while Ruth was getting ready for part two of her story with all of the images. They were saying that it was all faked and a fantasy of some kind, and that their reputation was being attacked by the newcomers for some reason. The Chinese were having a problem getting people to believe their version of the story. Now that so many people around the world had seen the recording of the attack and word had come out that the building was well known for its past role in cyberattacks around the world, it was like pushing a truck uphill in an ice storm.

Half a dozen archived news stories of that building being used for computer attacks over the last few years had been getting replayed. Every news agency in the world was now reposting every one of those stories on their web pages and referencing them on their live news shows. In the end, China would come forward publicly. They would state a few days later that the building been used in the past by that unit to do those things. However, the unit had been moved and re-tasked to other military jobs months before the attack by the aliens. Very few people would believe them no matter how many times they said the cover story they had pulled out of thin air. While attention was given to whoever else came out saying the same story, as long as they represented or were somehow connected to the Chinese government they were not believed by most of the world. And the number of people deciding on their own that the cover story was fake was slowly growing.

The Russians were demanding that everyone pull the Colonial supplied video off the air. They were saying that it was an attack on Russia's prestige and honor, and that if it continued playing for the public, the Russian government would hold the people who owned the news services responsible for this attack. As a matter of fact, the Russian ambassador to the United Kingdom was just wrapping up his interview live on the air. He was in the other room, down the hall from Ruth.

Ruth hated the overdressed little prick. She could have let him see the images BBC had bought before he went on the air. That would have been the politically correct thing to do, but just this once she did not care what he or his bosses might think or do against her or the BBC. She had two different groups working discretely on two different rumors about him for a few months now. Both groups were checking out his involvement in the human and sex trafficking centered around companies he controlled. She was looking forward to his current statements blowing up in his face in an about an hour or so. The grin that she had on her face was matched by more than a few others in the broadcast booth today. The current power broker sitting in Moscow was not known for keeping someone who had become more useful as a bullet stopper than say a person breathing and drawing a paycheck that could do something dumb again.

No matter how much she wanted to stay and see the ambassador get his story blown out of the water, she had too much to do. She was off doing other things, like explaining the bill that had arrived with the images to her boss and his boss over him. That was not going to go over that well with her boss. While she was doing that, in an upper floor of the building, a handpicked but politically diverse panel was getting ready. All of the satellite images had been loaded into the computers.

Now, they could be projected on the green screens for the panel to use as they each tried to make their points. The first item put forward by the panel was going to be coming from one of the largest cybersecurity firms in the EU. One of the panelists was going to announce that the number of suspected cyberattacks was down about twenty percent worldwide. And it was falling steeply on a graph compared to the last ten years to date on average.

His company was not going to say anything about the Colonial attack but he could confidently say that the activity coming out of China and Russia was way down, historically. What they did not know was that as soon as word made its way around about the threats to MIT and the Houston area hackers in the latest message, the number of cyberattacks dropped like a rock to all time lows for months to come after this news story. It would seem that there was going to be a consequence for hackers now. Before, if they got caught, more times than not, they would end up with a nice highly paid job working for the government or one of the biggest companies in the world. Very, very few would ever do any jail time for their actions no matter who they hurt in those attacks.

The panel show was only an hour long. But after the live broadcast of the message from the Colonial Admiral, it was replayed many times during the next few days on every BBC channel in the world, and even sold to secondary networks around the world. BBC and World View sold the images at a huge mark up to hundreds or thousands of other end-users around the world. On top of that income, the price of advertisements on BBC news were already up 12% for the next month. After years of declining, this was a very nice turn of events for the news service.

Ruth was a very happy, but very tired, editor when her twenty-eight-hour day was finally called. She was sent home by the head of the BBC's head office under threat of having her escorted out of the building. After she had agreed to go home and get some sleep. That was when she was also told the bad news. Scotland Yard was going to be driving her home.

Until further notice, she would not be taking The Tube anywhere. She also would have four armed escorts anytime that she stepped outside of her house. They would be there any time she was home, due to the massive number of threats against her and every other senior person in the news company hitting the internet. It did not matter if they were connected to this story or not. There were a lot of angry and violent people coming out of the wood work after the Colonial news hit the world between the eyes.

In her last official duty for this very long day, she went into a meeting with the head executive of her department and the local board of directors where she was offered the chance to be the lead for the team that would be going to the Pacific islands area. They were expecting the Colonials to make good on their offer, and the BBC had won the race. She offhandedly said that she was too old to do the job. After so many hours of work, she was feeling every single day of her fifty-six years of life.

* * *

On the way home to put her head on a pillow, Ruth daydreamed about two different governments, and how they were reacting to the story. Their capitals might have been separated by ten different time zones, but they were working on the same issue that had slapped them in the face at the same time. The Chinese leadership was suffering from a loss of face and that could be deadly as Ruth well knew. They had gotten quickly used to being able to say one thing and do something else to the rest of world. There were very few countries on the planet that would have the gall to call them out on it, and it did not matter how much proof might be produced.

Except the Colonials did not care about the economic power that a couple of billion people under their control could muster. The Chinese were still smarting from not only losing the very expensive prototype drone, but now they had lost their best cyberwarfare unit. Both events were now very publicly known to the whole world. The Chinese's leadership, both on the civilian and military side, had been shocked to their core. Starting from when a whole building had been blown down in the middle of one of their largest cities. Some governments in the past had tried to counter their cyber-unit, but this unit was too good at its job.

Some news groups had tried to do stories outside the building, but those had been moved away. Sometimes the locals had had to use force, but most westerners did not like being threatened with handcuffs. The ones that did not mind handcuffs, well, a stick upside the head by a non-uniform wearing member of the security forces fixed them very quickly. Then they would sic the same cyber unit on the reporters before they even were on an airplane out of the country. To date this had been a very effective modus operandi for the Chinese. Now a country had just outed them and blackballed them from their products all in the same news story.

What they have had to deal with in the last few months was strange, and they were not happy about the changes happening in this world. It was not so bad that they had lost assets, even expensive assets, but that they had lost them and outsiders had proof. On top of that, the proof had been shown on worldwide broadcast news and the World Wide Web all at the same time. Memes made from those images were already infecting all of the major social media sites like a plague.

This was not going to be tolerated. After many hours of meetings and briefings, both groups would inevitably come to the same conclusion. All these meetings covering the same issues happening all of those time zones apart would be held and come to their conclusions independently of each other. They might have lost some face over these attacks, but they would get even with these Colonials. They just needed to wait until after the nosey news people had moved on to look at something else. The news cycle was a fickle woman, all they needed to do was wait her out. Both leaderships groups thought the released video was just posturing on the alien's part, which had happened before.

Ruth was sure both governments would not stand for it. The group of refugees would not dare to bar them from trading with them. They each had too much that the refugees should need. To lose access to everything they might need, that would have to hurt the refugees more in the long run. They were thinking that things would get back to normal in a month or four. They both would spend some time working on plans to get even with these upstarts sitting in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Soon, they would know better than to mess with the Bear or the Dragon. It was wishful thinking, she hoped.


	28. Chapter 28 New Arrivals and old Rivals

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 28: New Arrivals and Old Rivals**

Earth Mid March 2019

Two weeks after the Moscow operation Ruth and a team of six were boarding a Spearhead class catamaran supply ship in Tahiti. This one was called, of all things, M/V Spearhead. They had been on the busy resort island group for three days, ever since landing at the very busy airport on the main island. Some of them had landed a few days ahead of their colleagues, and they had used the time for some company paid or at least partially subsidized vacation. That is not how they claimed it on their time cards, but key leaders in the HR department knew what they were doing.

The early birds and the last group shot what was called the B-roll while they waited to get a booking on the few ships that had been allowed to make the transit. They spent most of their work time at the main shipping docks filming the larger ships unloading cargo into the newly expanded warehouse district. They had been able to get some pretty good shots of the West Pac Express loading and leaving the harbor. Even they could tell that she was carrying a full load of items out to the alien yet human inhabitants of the two islands not that far away.

When the rest of the team of reporters recovered from the long flights, they started shaking the trees each in their own way. The group of reporters had picked up rumors about what was getting left out of the worldwide news so far. From what they were told by a few 'highly placed sources,' it was Australia that was going to get the first high tech weapon sold by the aliens to the people on this planet. No one who knew about the trade was talking on the record. That was what the rumors were saying to anyone who had the right set of ears. It was almost like they did not want to risk wrecking the deal by talking about it outside of the right channels.

When Ruth called everyone back to the hotel for a surprise meeting, she let them know that they had just received their boarding instructions. They would be on the next ship going out to the Colonial island. The ship they were going to be riding on would also be carrying the second group of academics to visit the islands. They would have to be carried along with a full load of other cargo. This would not be a pure passenger cruise of some kind. She told them that they would have to recheck their luggage, this was their last chance to get anything they were missing or wanted to take for this trip.

Each member of the team had been given a detailed packing checklist before they came out to the high traffic islands. The base of it had been put together by one of the veteran wildlife reporters working for BBC International. It was going to be almost like being on a company camping trip, just with people who flew between the stars. Ohhh, and they had launched bombs into two other countries because of some computer issues that had bubbled up. They would have four walls, a roof, and a floor where they were going but that was about it. So it was not really roughing it by most normal standards of camping. Glamping was a totally different style of camping.

When the people had been about to leave the island for the trip to the Colonial islands, they did not leave much behind in the storerooms of the news company. They brought sleeping bags, small portable generators, food, and anything else they might need for a few weeks in the field. As soon as the meeting in the hotel was done, the press people descended on the taxi stand for whatever last minute shopping they thought they needed like a pack of dogs. They all wanted to get their shopping done first.

When the four taxis dropped them off at the shipping dock, they were early for the the supply ship's listed boarding time. Ruth gave the odd little ship a hard look as she stood on the saltwater slick dock. She knew enough about ships to know when one was already carrying a full load of cargo or not. She had seen enough ships riding low in the water when they made port calls in her home country of Israel. Wanting to know what was in those ships, where they had come from, and where they were going, had driven her into being a reporter way back in her late teens.

Whatever the ships had been loaded with, it was light, but very bulky. This trip would be the first time in four days that anything other than the strange cargo was to be carried out to the human aliens called Colonials. The news crew only had a few hours to get all of their equipment inspected by both the harbour master and one of the cargo ship's officers. Then they had to get it all loaded and secured onto the twin hulled fast cargo ships.

Ruth made sure all of her people and equipment was lined up at the pier side over an hour before they were told that they would begin the loading process. The second mate of the ship and the customs officer of Tahiti went through every bag one at a time. They had not used a fine tooth comb for the inspection, but the American TSA could have taken a few pointers from those two. And they were not even using any electronic tools.

Everything went well, and Ruth and her people were allowed to board the ship with no issues. It was going to be about an eleven hour trip over open water, and this was not a ship that was optimized to carry people at all besides her limited crew. In short, they were not on a cruise liner or passenger ferry by any stretch of the imagination.

Ruth had one of the younger cameramen with her on deck while the rest of her team got situated around the ship. She wanted to catch what she thought might be an interesting event. If she knew people at all, Ruth had had run-ins in the not too distance past with some of the types that were supposed to be shipping out with them today. Suffice to say, they tended to get people talking about them. A lot of times, once they started talking, they would not stop and subjects would vary as each breath was used in talking to the people around them. Then again, that was only part of the reason she was on the small cargo ship's deck.

Only two of the expected other group made it to the dock on time. Even then, it took those two longer to get their luggage cleared then it had taken her whole team to do the same exercise. They showed up in ones or twos after that, and repeated the whole process several times. The last few passengers, they did not show up until the lines were being pulled in to the cargo ship so that it could use its bow thrusters to leave the harbor pier.

A pair of them were waving their arms and jumping up and down like crazy people on the overcrowded dock. The ship did not stop moving once the ropes were pulled in, and with a blast of the ship's horn, the ship pulled farther away from the pier into the dark water, leaving the crazy people still waving their arms in the air. Ruth had one of the cameraman shooting footage of the two people left on the dock. They did not look like they were happy through the high-powered zoom lens. Ruth could not help but smile at the crazy people on the pier.

When Ruth and the cameraman ran into some of the academics in the main cargo hold while the cargo ship was still in the flat waters of the harbor, they seem shocked that the ship's Captain had not stopped for the late arriving pair of scholars. They seemed to think that showing up an hour late was not that big of a deal. Ruth had to keep from laughing in their faces but rolled film on their whining while she asked leading questions out of camera view to the targets of the interview. She could not help but given them enough rope to hang themselves but good.

Ruth had done work in some of the least developed parts of the world in her time. She had gone to most of those places by sea, and over the years had put together a default packing list that reflected that. The experience of the BBC expert had only added a few items to that draft list, to be honest. As soon as the small cargo ship had pulled out of the protection of the lagoon, people felt the ship start to move differently. Ruth had everyone who was not used to sea travel take a pair of seasickness pills and climb into the air mattress they were told to bring. These would be their beds for the next half day. The pills were known to make most people more than a little tired as the green saviors did their work. Most of the press team took their leader's advice and tried to get some sleep, the day had started very early after all.

Some brave souls had put up net hammocks, tieing them off to conveniently placed cargo or tie down hooks. After about two hours of the ship leaving the protection of the island harbor, most were on the hard nonskid metal deck, and a lot greener in the face. The sea was not that bad, but for people who had only been in fishing boats on a lake or maybe a quick swim in the ocean, this was a completely different experience. Every time one of the pointed ends of the wave piercings bows breached one wave and slammed into the next wave, it would shake the whole ship like a giant hitting its side with a hammer. The poor unacclimated souls would just look around and get just a little greener or sweat just a little more with each loud bang.

Because of her planning and experience, the ten plus hour trip became not that big of an ordeal. At least, compared to some of the others the ship was carrying as excess cargo. The other group of passengers did not have the benefit of her foresight, and they did not have such an easy trip as the BBC crew had. They did, however, succeed in getting both groups barred from the bridge for the duration of the trip. One good thing that came out of the trip was that Ruth had managed to sniff out what had been shipped out to the Colonials over the last few days. It was a product that Australia had plenty of, cloth. The cargo ships had been shipping in clothes, running shoes, hiking boots, bolts of different types and colors of cloth. They were also sending items like buttons, zippers, and literally tons and tons of thread. Ruth could not understand why this was being shipped out, but she took note of this.

* * *

The Spearhead class ship came to a halt just outside of the lagoon that surrounded the Colonial controlled islands. This was a break in normal operations and the crew picked up on the change very quickly. People of the sea did not like change and were known to be very superstitious as a group in general. The ship was just floating in the light current, and everyone got more tense as the seconds ticked by. Most of the passengers felt the change as well and were starting to react, and not in a very good way.

Normally a Raptor would land on the deck not long after the cargo ship had crossed the two mile mark out from the mouth of the lagoon. The Colonials would inspect the ships as they came closer to the lagoon at normal speed. Instead the ship was currently at a dead stop, its anchors dropped into the blue water near the reef. They stayed at anchor almost a full two hours before the Raptor landed on the back of the stationary cargo ship. All of the people who were not working were looking out the small windows. The passengers watched the first Colonials they had ever seen in real life. The BBC crew recorded as much of the odd event as they could. They were overt while the CIA plants among the ship's crew did their own recordings a bit more on the covert side.

This inspection took almost an hour, or about three times longer than any another inspection that a ship of this class had gone through. Or anyone had heard about from the only other ships that had been able to make a port call there. That did not sit well with the crew, who were now more nervous than a longtail cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The crew were both very vocal about their unease and exuded it out of their pores in almost visible waves. When the Colonials entered the main dock area, the stress went up even higher.

Six black clad and heavily armed people went from very top of the ship to very bottom of the ship in pairs. Where did they put most of the inspection time into? It was into checking out the visitors' cargo. The group did not talk to that many people on the ship while they worked. They used their helmets to talk amongst themselves, and with the Raptor sitting on the back of the fifteen hundred ton ship. The silence was grating to some of the passengers.

Ruth could feel that something had the armed people on edge, but she could not get anything form them. She already knew that the cargo ship's crew did not know anything of value yet. She had had high hopes about getting something from them, but she had already found out that this crew was tighter lipped than any she had dealt with in memory. This tightlippedness was causing _her_ to be on edge. She could feel that something else was up. Something that she could not put her finger on.

After the ship was swept twice by the larger than normal inspection team, the Raptor was reboarded and left the cargo ship. The one good thing to come out of the delay was that by the time they were able to lift off of the pitching cargo ship the sun had risen again over the beautiful pair of tropical islands. It made for some great camera work, and Ruth did not have to prod her team to take advantage of the view.

The rest of the trip from the two mile mark all the way to the small dock was uneventful. That is, expect for the squawking from some of the academics. When the ship made the last turn into the small cove, Ruth was struck by how empty it looked. There were very few boats of any kind in the beautiful little cove. There were empty small craft docks all around the good-sized cove they entered. She was able to get a good view when the Spearhead spun around and backed up to the largest dock available.

The two groups unloaded their personal baggage and work equipment out of the side passenger gangway while the larger cargo was offloaded via the Roll On/Roll Off ramp. Ruth's team had no problem with this task. The academics that had been able to make the ship departure time on the other hand, not so much. They were very upset that they had to load and now unload their own items. They were making their displeasure known to the ship's crew and any of the ship's leadership they could get in a corner and berate. In short, they were not making any friends on the cargo ship.

When Ruth and her team were being picked up by a small convoy of large golf carts she had arranged and paid for while they were waiting off island, the other group was still unloading the ship one slow bag at a time. They even seemed to be dragging their feet while they moved down the gangplank. None of them looked very happy at having to do manual labor.

The BBC crew headed south away from the landing pier and, as it happens, the island's airfield. Ruth, who had been to this island almost a decade ago, had her head on a pivot. She still remembered much about the island, but she had studied every updated image that the BBC had access to. There had been a lot to do before they boarded the long flight out of the UK. She was now a little concerned when they pulled into a short driveway.

The house they pulled up to was more of a small villa. It also sat near the road and overlooked one part of the lagoon from the almost wrap around deck. It was a picture perfect location to retire to or just spend some time getting away from everything. It was a lot better place than Ruth and her bosses had thought they would be given to live in. One of the news crew took a long look at the place, then looked at the mission leader. She had a very bewildered look on her face. This had not been covered in the few briefings they had sat through.

The soundman looked over with a cocky smile plastered all over his face. "Well, it is better than the parking deck I lived in during my first tour in Iraq."

Ruth just nodded back to the young man. She had forgotten that he had been a member of the British Army for six years before joining the BBC. She gave a slight smile back to the young man. "It also looks better than a being in a tent in Kenya around July."

The villa was nice and would have been perfect were it not for the fact that it was only a shell of a building. All of the windows and doors were new and would have been called builder grade by those in the building trade. That was in stark contrast to the high-end exterior of the home that they had seen before opening the front door. The interior walls were patched where new power lines had been run through by the island's new owners to replace the ones ripped out when the original owners left the island. The sinks did not have running water, and the light fixtures did not have power to make them work. They did have bulbs in them though. There even was an economy sized package of toilet paper in one of the four bathrooms.

Even after each person had put their personal items in their claimed spaces around the spacious building, they still had to set up items that would help them perform the functions they were there to do in the first place. Packaged food and water was unpacked and put in the stripped-out kitchen. Before lunch time, most of the rest of the group were outside setting up the camping solar panels. After that was done, they moved on to working on setting up a small wind generator, which would take advantage of the local trade winds. Ruth was the oldest member of the team, and she drove herself as hard as she drove the whole team.

The only break they took was when the sun was directly over their heads. The heat and humidity drove them into the cooler areas that were inside the large home. The solar panels topped off the charges in the portable recording equipment, and they turned on a few fans to move air around a room. That was all they had to help with the cooling while they rested. After everyone had had some food and water, and fresh sunscreen had been applied, it was time to get back to work.

Now that the sun was no longer beating down directly on everyone when they went outside to finish rigging the two wind turbines. Only one person in the whole group had ever seen the devices before, so it took them longer than the directions said it would. This made getting them to work difficult, even after they started reading the directions in the afternoon shift. By the time the sun went down on their first day on the island, both were turning nicely and adding additional power to the home at a steady rate. Now they had enough power to support all of their work equipment, and even enough extra to power the cooler they brought with them. They could have cold drinks, not cool, but cold drinks, by the morning. Sometimes it was something as small as that which can make things so much easier to deal with.

Everyone had had a long day and little sleep the night before, so they should have just gone to bed early after the last two days. They did not. Instead they broke up into groups of two or three people each and picked up portable recording equipment, powerful lights, and a few hand-held walking lights. Some were looking for stories, some looking for dirt, and others just wanted to see the sights. It was not every day that your company sent you to a paradise.

About half of them would end up on the beach near an area between the pier and the airfield along with groups of Colonials having a bonfire. The time would be marked down as shooting more B-roll film on the time sheets but very little would be useful, except in later shows and then only as background shots. Ruth just spent the time with her feet in the warm water, thankful for not being in London during March again. When people started to get tired, or their bodies had winded down so that sleep might be welcome, they started trickling back into the villa.

* * *

Ruth's BAA went off at an ungodly hour, and only the dead would not have risen to the noise within the large house. The metal and plastic beast could even be heard on the porch outside of the larger home, still at an extreme volume. When Ruth had unpacked the device, one of the soundmen had called it a Big Ass Alarm. So, BAA had stuck, even before they had to endure the device. Nevertheless, it did its job, and everyone was up at the time Ruth had wanted to start moving. Whether they wanted to be awake, now that was a different matter.

With the team now awake and moving they could take wetwipe baths and have some Wise Foods breakfast packages. They were ready for the convoy of electric carts when they showed up at the large home. Ruth had been hoping to get some newer and higher quality images of the fabled hover cars that the Colonials were reported to operate around the island. She had been around the news business long enough that she did not show her disappointment at having to catch a ride in the small Earth made carts. This was only the first official day of this little expedition, after all. There would be other opportunities to see them.

The first major interview was going to be in a few hours at the airfield. It would be with the commanding officer of the base the Colonials were now operating. That was not a bad way to start off. She used the time to look around the island and she noticed some of the subtle changes that the island had undergone since her last visit. The only thing that she could tell was alien they encountered as they pulled into the small parking lot of the airport. She had made sure that one or two of her portable or hand-held cameras recorded every inch of today's drive.

Mell Kelly was one of the few true redheads in the news business. The bright lights were not kind to the light skin tones that the red-haired personality normally had. She had been well known for her amazing good looks, but it was thanks to the brain under that red hair and pretty face that she was where she was now. She knew that she could go down in history as the first news reporter to do a face to face interview with a Colonial official. She also knew that she would only get that note in history if she could get some of the questions people around the world were asking answered. The answers that they had been waiting for for so long.

If she did not get them, she would be a laughingstock and they would move her over to the line of bubble heads with knee pads instead of being viewed as a serious world class journalist. That was not the way she wanted her career to go. She had set her sights on running the news shows, as well as being anchor in front of the camera. She knew that they would not use most of her interview but it was a risk she was willing to take.

Mell looked around the room the locals had set aside for their use as an interview room. It was an inner room of the main airport building, and it was completely blocked off from the outside world. She had no idea what it might have been used for or what it would be used for after she was done with it. She would not be surprised if they told her that the room had previously been used to hold people suspected of smuggling in items they should not have tried to. Those items could have been anything from foreign plants to animals and drugs. Who knows what they would use this room for in the future? Right now, it was perfect for this purpose.

The room now had black drapes along one wall. Two tall wooden backed chairs had been found, and lights installed to spotlight the two chairs. It also had the two cameras that would be recording the entire event. It was about as close to a real studio as one could get and still not be one. Everything was ready to begin. All that was missing was the person she was supposed to interview. She was starting to worry that there was going to be no interview and this had been a joke of some kind after all. Unfortunately, it would not have been the first time something like that had happened in the news business where high level persons were involved. What she did not know was that Ruth was thinking exactly the same thing for the last twenty minutes. Ruth was just better at hiding her concern then the younger woman.

Both women's heads turned when the door opened, and the dark area of the room was filled with soft but bright warm white light coming in from the hallway. Two people entered the room, one after the other, and the door closed behind them. They were both men. One was older, maybe around sixty and the other was maybe in his late thirties to early forties. Both men were in some kind of uniform that did not belong to any group on this planet.

Mell suspected that the green uniform was somewhat analogous to fatigues or utility uniforms for the Colonial military from her review of the information these people put up on their web site and other online sources. The Admiral for example was in all of his appearances so far dressed in a blue uniform that was buttoned along the right side. For the more rugged environment of the islands, she was not surprised the two here had opted for less formal wear. There were subtle differences she could pick out, too. The younger man had a noticeable military style bearing. Not quite ramrod straight, but definitely more erect than the other. His uniform was a tad more neatly pressed and he was wearing a rank insignia on his collar where the older man had none. _Was the older man a civilian consultant?_

All the information they had been able to dig up so far, and mostly from government leaks, said that around thirty percent of the islands' population was in some type of military capacity. All of the leadership that had been seen on the island was military, but they did have an elected President.

It was strange on this planet to have such a high percentage of a population being in the military. This did not bother Mell, but it did a lot of the other newspeople she had talked with over the last few months. Mell was more concerned that she had been expecting one person for this interview and not two. So who was she supposed to interview? She did not have a photo in the briefing packet they have been working on, and while she had some idea she dared not assume. So, she waited, and it was killing her. At least until they came fully out of the shadows. She knew this was history in the making.

Charles Bellamy and John Keller entered the room. Charles had picked John to come with him and act as translator if one was needed. Charles' command of English was very good, but he did not want to get caught up somehow in this interview. John was there to help keep Charles from missing something important or falling into a trap. Charles was the younger looking one of the two-person group, and when he saw the pretty redhead looking back and forth between them, he identified what the issue was. She could not read the uniforms. She was looking back and forth between the two, before turning a little to maintain eye contact with John.

Charles stepped forward a half step and stuck out his hand towards the woman. "Miss Kelly. I'm Colonel Charles Bellamy. I'm the one in charge of this little outpost in paradise."

He pointed to the older looking man that was now standing one step behind him and to his left. "This is John Keller. He is better at both using and understanding the finer qualities of your language than I am. I have drafted him to help me with this interview. I hope that he will be able to make sure that we don't have any misunderstandings and that nothing unfortunate happens because of a simple misunderstood word or an oddly turned phrase."

Mell took the offered hand as he spoke. Mell thought he spoke well and was not bad looking but she took the statement at face value. "Thank you, Colonel, for agreeing to talk to us. Will you have a seat please?"

She pointed to one of the two chairs. They were setup so that they were almost looking at each other. Charles had seen this set up before. He had reviewed half a dozen interviews after he had been voluntold to make himself available to the visitors. He paid attention to both the setup, and the different ways of how questions could be delivered.

Charles smiled and he hoped that it was not as fake looking as it felt on his face. He did not even like dealing with his own people's press personnel, much less these strangers, but he had been ordered, so here he was. All he could do was make the best of the grilling that was coming. He took the seat that looked like it had come out of what was left of the airport bar. Charles watched as John took a position outside of camera range, but still with a clear line of sight to the officer and his nominal boss. He had not wanted to be here either, but at least now, he could say that he was involved in history. Again. That might be enough to keep him off of these people's hit list. He was not counting on it, but he was hoping none the less.

Charles let the BBC staff attach mics and wires to his undershirt, hidden under his uniform top. When the support staff walked away, he re-buttoned his shirt and fixed his uniform. After making a few adjustments to make sure that it was looking the way it should according to regulations. He made eye contact with Mell.

"Miss Kelly. I want to let you know that whenever you ask questions, I'm going to be looking at John over there. If he holds up the red card in one of his hands, we will stop the interview. We do not want a misunderstanding that could cost people's lives."

He stopped talking and tilted his head down just a little, and gave her a level gaze. "And it could be lots of people's lives that could be at stake. Before you get upset at me, I will answer all of your questions to the best of my ability. But if you ask me something that is beyond my area expertise or authority to answer I will ask that you pose that question to the Admiral instead, when you have your meeting with him later."

Mell and Ruth nodded, and both women had heard the capital A when Charles used the word Admiral. Ruth and Mell did not like having any last-minute conditions being added when doing an interview, but they both had to deal with a lot more and broader restrictions in other past interviews. So they got over it very quickly, and went about their respective jobs. Besides, this man had just confirmed that what most people thought was the number two person in the Colonial leadership was on the planet or would soon be.

After a round of sound and light checks, Mell and Charles were ready. She turned to the main camera. She turned herself 'ON' and was now ready to do her job, or at least one of the major parts of her job. The adrenalin was starting to flow, and one part of her mind told her that she was going to have the sugar crash from hell when she was done. It had happened a few times after some of her beat interviews.

"I am here tonight with Colonel Charles Bellamy of the Colonials of Kobol. For those who might have been hiding under a rock somewhere, he is the leader of the trading outpost on our planet." She turned again to look at her target for the afternoon. His green eyes were like open weapons tubes, and the person sitting a few feet away from her. On part of her brain knew that this man had seen some very sad times.

"Thank you for agreeing to this interview, Colonel. I would like to start with asking how the first release of a Colonial tech item, besides mineral, jewels, and other forms of wealth, went. Can you give us a run down about how it worked out, and what exactly was traded between your people and ours or this new technology?"

Charles smiled. Well, it was a smile for him. "Miss Kelly, it went very well. We put up a single one of our military pistols, we call it a CP M45. We auctioned it along with the two types of ammunition we use with it in combat. There was enough ammunition for two full reloads of that weapon. We are starting small, and we will see how that works out." He did not say that his leadership was worried about the falling prices of the trade metals his people had been using. Much less the effect it looked like it was having on this planet's economy.

Ruth buzzed Mell in the earbud she was wearing in the ear that was away from the camera, but Mell was already thinking about what had been said. "You said an M45? Can you please explain more about that? We don't have much information on your weapons, much less what you call them. You have been updating your webpage with information about your people for weeks now. It is going to take some time to truly understand all of it."

Charles did not say anything for a long second. He was working out the best way to address this question without losing her or anyone who might be watching when this was broadcast to the world. "Yes, Miss Kelly. The CP M45 is the same type of weapon that was shown at the airshow my people participated in a while ago. It is the standard weapon that our Viper and Raptors crews normally carry while they are on missions in case they are shot down or attacked outside of their craft."

Mell's eyes went up almost all the way to her red bangs. She had no idea what they had traded. Something like a first line weapon was not on the list. And to find out that the weapon that that had shocked the world was only a holdout weapon, one to be used only if a pilot was lost behind enemy lines. If she was surprised by this, then her viewers were also going to be feeling the same thing as she was.

"That was an impressive display of firepower," she put on. "Can you go into some detail of how this deal was worked out?" Kelly was trying to keep her voice level.

Charles just nodded his head up and down twice, and started talking again in his odd accent. "The requirements for the trade were that whoever wanted the items had to submit a bid with what they thought we might need and what the offered item was worth to them. I reviewed each bid and we researched the groups submitting the bids. I will tell you, right now, I threw out about a dozen bids just because of their connections to the list of countries that are on our 'little frakker' list." He smirked a little, but it was there only for a second or two before it went away.

Charles turned to look at one of the cameras and raised one eye brow a little as a knowing grin came to his face. "I would suggest you check that list on our web page for more details. It might save you some time in the future."

Mell quickly looked down at her notes, and tried not to lose her composure. She had no idea if term 'frakker' would make the final broadcast cut or not. She had an idea of what he meant by that word choice. When she looked back up from her notes, she had a devilish twinkle in her eyes. She wanted to see how far she could push this line.

"Can you tell us who won, and what the bid was? Also, what were some of the other bids that did not win? Was there any specific reason that they were not selected?"

Charles was about to just say no and be done with it. Then he changed his mind. "I cannot tell you who won the bid, but I will say that they are from Australia, and it was not from their governing body. Yes, we checked into the company before we told them that they had won. The winning bid this time was for two thousand tons of new clothes, shoes, sewing supplies and various kinds of uncut cloth. I will not disclose what the other bids were, but we will be putting a second lot up for bid at the first of the month. We hope to do this every other month, for now. The limiter in how many different lots are put up for bid is how quickly the winners can deliver their items to us. Once that's ironed out we turn over the agreed upon auction lot to their new owners. We are just as new to this as your people are, so it is going to be a steep learning curve for all parties involved."

Mell had not been aware how much the winning bid had been but from what she had just been told it seemed like a lot for one hand carried weapon. She put a shocked look on her face, a practiced one that was believable to many of her viewers.

"So, all that someone needs to do to have access to an alien weapon, a high-tech weapon, is trade some old clothes? That seems a little too good to be true. What is the catch?" She made sure that she injected just the right amount of disbelief into the last part of her statement.

Charles could not hold it back, so he let the laugh go. "No, Miss Kelly. We are refugees from a civilianization that was wiped out. And we have been on the run for years, through deep space and more lightyears than I want to count. I don't know about you but some new clothes that aren't drab green military utility wear would make my girlfriend a very happy woman. Now that we have filled that need for the time being and the foreseeable future, I think most of our future clothing needs will be ordered in smaller lots. When we get this lot passed around, it will go to those of our people who are in need and living off this planet.

Charles was still smiling at the reporter and was waving a single hand from side to side. "Now, I will not tell you much more on that subject. It would not be fair to everyone else if I told you what we need or are looking for. The reason we are doing it this way is because someone might come up with items that we don't even realize we need. We like it when people come up with workable ideas all on their own."

Mell nodded her own head in agreement. What he said made a lot of sense and it surprised her. That had been a softball question, now for a harder one. "On the way in to your islands, the crew of the cargo ship that brought us in said that security was a lot tighter this time compared to the past runs they had made. Did something happen? We are a bit cut off from outside information sources, for now."

Ruth could tell that the Colonial officer now was a little on the uncomfortable side, shifting oddly in his chair. To her surprise he did not back out of the question. He did not even ask for a little break before he replied to her pointed question.

Charles had not expected that question, but it was not that much of a surprise. "Yes. I take it you have not been in contact with your main office using what I think you call a satellite phone." That comment was to let her know that a report had been made of everything they had brought to this island. He knew what they brought.

Charles sat a little taller in the chair and adopted a very serious look on his face to reinforce what he was about to say. "In the last forty-eight hours, we stopped another boat that entered our waters without an invitation. It was a very large ocean going fishing boat with twelve, that we know of, people on board. When we told them to stop for inspection, they decided to try to make a high-speed run into the lagoon."

Charles looked away from Mell, and back into one of the cameras. "They did not make it. The overflying Raptor shot out the engines without sinking the thing. It was a fine example of good shooting by one of my people. When our scout went to put a line to tow the disabled vessel to the south beach, they decided to blow themselves up before we could talk with them. Our craft only had its paint blackened by the explosion but the size of the blast did startle the flight crew. With this recent attack, I have upped our alert level, knowing what is out there on the ocean around our home. I have also upped the level of force that our people can use on any craft that enters our claimed domain."

Charles took a deep breath, and then dropped his bombshell on the reporter. "We also launched a counterattack. It was against the person who we tracked as the source of the money that was used to buy the boat. We blew his home apart. It was just outside of Aden, in Yemen. We decided to go ahead and take out a couple of the other cyber problems that have come up since our last corrective action. So when we launched the attack in Aden, we also hit targets in Hong Kong, Lagos, Tehran, Ankara, and one of your tabloid news outlets near the city of Los Angeles." Charles had to stop talking when Mell dropped her pen and had to retrieve it from the carpeted floor. He waited for her to retrieve it and return to her professional stance.

"We did all of that in a space of a few hours." Charles let a wolfish smile come to his face as he watched the reactions he was expecting to see from the pretty redhead. "We were going hit a building outside of a small city near Alexandria, Virginia, but since they only tried once that we know of, it was decided that we would only send a note to the agency director's private email. We told him that they need back off. I hope that he got the message, but if not we will add that building to our target list. The reason for me being a little late to this interview was that I had to order the same type of warning note sent to a pretty long list of groups that were in that same category. I did not want anyone to say the Colonials were playing favorites or something along those lines."

Ruth had no idea if the Colonial was talking about the NSA or CIA when he used the term agency and building outside of what had to Washington DC but it had to be one of those groups with three letters and that ended with an A. She would bet her bottom pound of that little fact. Another fact she would bet on was that the email would not be well received. Ruth was thinking also that his response was the perfect opening to jump to question number eight on Mell's list. She was about reach for the switch and prompt Mell which question to ask next. She also made a mental note to find out what had happened while they had been on the way here. It would seem that the world had made a major jump while they had been traveling. Cell phone alerts only work when they have line of sight with a cell tower in their network.

It turned out that she did not have to, because Mell knew her job, and she was also very good at her job. She did not even miss a beat. "Colonel! Thank you for letting us know. I did not know about that, but that does bring up your recent attacks on China and Russia. After all, it was your release of that information that allowed us to have this sit down. It has been said that your reaction to a few people just playing some computer game was extreme or even excessive. What do you say to those who are making these statements?" She did not need to know that this was going to be the same statement by a lot more people, if these news of additional attacks were true.

Charles was about to get angry, and then saw the way the redhead had turned her head. She was only asking a question. She was not trying to pass judgment on the actions that he had ordered. "Miss Kelly. We have been fighting a war against computerized machines for longer than you have been alive. I will tell you that there is a difference between using a computer for entertainment and using one as weapon or for an attack against a different party. Computer attacks or hacking as you call them, is something new for your planet. At least from what we have been able to find out in our short stay. It's only been around for less than twenty years for you. You are not fully aware of the trouble and damage this type of warfare can do to an advanced society. That is something that my people are very painfully aware off."

Charles stopped talking for a few seconds and sadness and pain colored his eyes and his voice. "A longtime ago, we had the same feelings about computer attacks as your people do today. I don't think they ever found out how many people died in those first few weeks of the First Cylon War or how many people died before war even officially started. Most of those deaths were caused by the Cylons attacking Colonial computer support systems and then wiping or corrupting all of those databases. I remember as a very young boy watching on documentaries our version of passenger liners falling from the sky like a shower of fiery fingers coming down. They did this by the hundreds. They did not even vent the craft to space before sending them crashing into the ground. You have to wonder what those people were thinking for the five or so minutes that they knew they were going to die. All the while, they could do nothing but think about it. And it was all done by hacking into the passenger liners' onboard computers while they were in operation."

He did not go into the last CNP hack that Baltar had let happen. Maybe they would talk about that later. Maybe then the pain would be less. Right now did not seem like the right time. That was a bit too much dirty laundry to hang out on the first interview with someone from this planet's press corps.

Mell nodded in agreement. Her identity had been stolen a few years back and it had taken forever and labor hours measured in weeks to fix the damage that was caused. She did not know how much money it had cost her, and they still did not know who had done the deed in the first place. She had wanted someone's blood when she had seen that someone had charged a new high-end computer to her credit card.

"I and my viewers understand going after a country sponsored computer attack group. The hard part is the idea of blowing someone's house up. Just because their kid likes to hack computers from his parent's basement. Without said parents even knowing what was going on under their noses."

Charles tilted his head to his right and he had an odd expression on his face. "Where we come from, a parent is responsible for the actions of their minor children. One of the most important jobs I had as a parent was to teach them to know what was right and what was wrong. I looked up some law precedents from your country of birth the other day. If anything happens on your property, like someone gets hurt at a dinner party, or something like that, you are the one held responsible for what happened to that visitor. What is the difference between something happening a dinner party and someone trying to destroy someone else's computers or steal information that could hurt someone else from your house?"

Ruth prompted Mell again, but Charles could not hear what was said. He could only see Mell turning towards the technical support group just slightly without shifting in her chair. "So, you're saying that you would destroy someone's home if their computer was used to attack your people's computers?"

Charles was about to say something when he saw the card fly up in front of John's face. Mell saw the card at almost the same second and stopped talking. With the dead air Charles waved John forward so that they could talk without raised voices. John was speaking very low and Mell could not hear what was being said. Amazingly the microphone that was only inches away from Charles's mouth also did not transmit what was said between the two men. The soundman was working his systems hard to get them to pick up the voices, but they failed.

Ruth noticed how still the older man was after he put his body between Charles and any camera that might have been able to get a tight shot of his lips. Not for the first time today, Ruth wondered if this Charles person was the commanding officer rather than the older man. They were so new to the rest of the world that they could be trying to hide who oversaw this Outpost for security reasons. She would see some advantages to doing this. The IDF did it all the time with their pilots. She also knew that if it turned out that way there would then be a trust issue between them and the press. One that would be hard to repair.

When John had backed out of camera range again, Charles nodded to Mell. This was taken as a message that they could continue with the interview. Mell and Ruth looked closely at the face of this Colonel. He did not put a smile on his face. If this man was a political person, an oily smile would be expected on his face once filming starts again. The Colonial officer did not have a smile on display. It was more of a tight lipped look, a lot like an 'I bit into a lemon,' kind of face. Then when he started talking again, the voice was almost robotic at first. It was like he was quoting a law book.

"If you're asking whether we would attack someone whose system was hacked and then used to attack us - I think your term is a zombie machine - the answer is no, we would not do that. When a system has been compromised into supporting an attack, there are indicators that are not that hard for us to find. So, in other words, if that attack is traced to xyz Robin Tail Ave, we wouldn't necessarily pay you a not so friendly visit. We will spend lot of time finding out who was doing the attacking, and what they might be looking for. That is before we respond to that cyberattack. I'm not going to go into a lot of detail on how we do these things, but I can give some advice to your viewers, free of charge. That is, if some parents are worried about this happening with little Johnny or Jane, then maybe they need to spend more time being a parent to their children and less time doing other things. It is that or they might find themselves having to find a new home. All because of their lack of interaction with their children. We look at it like this, these actions are for the betterment of the rest of the human race."

Mell and Ruth were having a problem coming up with a counterpoint to the Colonial's last statement. What the officer had said on both counts was right, and it did not help that they agreed with the man. Ruth and Mell were thankful that this was a recorded interview and not a live one because of the dead air.

Mell knew that the empty seconds would be edited out, so she was not as concerned about the dead air as Ruth was. Besides it gave her some time to think about what to say next. More importantly, it gave her time to work out the best way of how to say it. The Colonials were not the only ones that were worried about choosing the wrong words.

"If you don't mind. I would like to change the subject, Colonel. I understand that a lawsuit has been filed on behalf of the locals that you bought these islands off of. What is your take on that subject?" This question she thought she already knew the answer to. She wanted them to have at least one comment from the Colonials that was negative or might look negative to her whole viewing audience.

Charles let his face go poker and it was almost plastic looking to the camera. He had not been truly expecting that question. "I have heard that your World Court had been notified of the pending lawsuit and someone from their offices has given me a description of the lawsuit. I would ask if you know that the notifying law firm's main office is in Moscow. We also know that the law firm still does not have a single person to put down in writing as a litigant against us."

Charles let his face relax, and even let a slight smile come to his lips. He could see that he had surprised her. "I think that's why they went with the World Court instead of any of the local or regional courts in the Pacific region. Sorry, that was me pulling a sidetrack. But we are not surprised by the event you just asked about. We have a law firm on retainer that handles such things for us. They also can handle any other of your planet's legal systems. We feel that we did right by all of the owners with the purchase of this land. I'm sure that how we acquired these islands will be gone over with one of your fine-tooth combs soon. That is if they have not done so already. When we started buying these two islands, we made sure to be as fair as we could be to everyone, but we have to look after our people also."

Mell smiled on both the outside and inside. She had known about the Moscow connection of the lawsuit. Now it was, or soon would be, on the public record for everyone to hear and who knows what else. She bet that Red Square was not going to be happy that those two facts were going to be made very public knowledge.

"I have another question that we have been asked to inquire about. With your advanced technology, will you share your vast scientific knowledge with us? If so, would you do it for free, or would you sell the information like you just did with a weapon?" The last part she had added on her own now that she knew what had been traded. It seemed like a good time to get a statement on the record now. Who knew if she would get a second chance?

Charles tilted his head to one side. Now this was a question that he had been expecting, and one that he had even asked himself before he had accepted this command. "Miss Kelly, what we are having to do, and it's one of our driving factors, is to protect an indigenous population and their culture. That indigenous population? It is the entire population of this planet, which we are talking about. We need to help you raise your own tech base, but we have to do this without having a repeat of what has happened in the past. We have seen what has happened before when a higher tech group makes contact with a group that had so much of corresponding lower tech levels. We are not holding information back from this planet because we want to. We are just slowly giving out items so that your people can catch up to us. We have to do this without causing a collapse of your hard-built support systems. We believe that the Cylons will find your planet, and the higher your society's tech base is the more likely that you will live through the events of that first meeting."

Mell had a mental flash of what had happened to several of the indigenous populations on this planet whenever Europeans showed up. Examples abounded in the Americas, in Asia and in Africa. Only this time, the whole planet was analogous to those Neolithic Age tribes and the guns, black powder, steel, and glass supplying Europeans and Chinese were these aliens that were also maybe human. It was a very sobering image, and one she thought was strange to be missing from all of those sci fi books and movies. It was looking like these strangers were trying to help, but who knew for sure? An image of 'How to Serve Man' came flashing out of the back part of her brain.

Mell pushed that flash of images down and hoped that they did not show through the heavy makeup she had to wear under the lights. "That leads me to my next question. You have opened your two islands to different groups of intellectuals recently. How is that going?"

Charles bit his lip, and he did not know that it was picked up on the HD camera. "It's not going as well as we would like. The first group are having some issues settling in. I think that it is too early to tell about the larger second group. I hope that they will work out as time progresses and we get used to working together. It they don't, then maybe the next group will fit in better. This is not a sprint but a long-distance run. We will grow together, it just might take a few false starts before it's done right." Charles shrugged.

Ruth had to stifle something that threated to come out of her mouth. Fortunately her brain to mouth filter was sort of working today. Unfortunately she did not do as good a job as she had hoped at keeping that filter in place. Everyone near her had heard it. The interview went on for the full two hours that had been hoped for. Ruth wanted longer, and would have kept on going without a break. It was not uncommon to need a whole day of working while trying to do something like this. It was typical to do half a dozen shots from different angles. That was not an option today, but maybe next time. In her head, she was already planning the next interview with one of these hard to pin down Colonial leadership types.

Then a hard knock on the door to the outside world brought the interview to an end and her thoughts came crashing down. At least, for now. Ruth had no idea what had caused the interruption, but the Colonel's staff thought it was important enough to interrupt the ongoing interview. Mell had a different idea, which she kept between her ears. She just thought that the military man had left a message to have someone come in at a certain time, so he could have a reason to leave the interview early. That also was something that had happened more than once in her career. Besides, she knew very well how most people thought about her profession.

Charles made platitudes about having to deal with something that came up and left the dark room for the brighter lights of the hallway. The Colonials did not tell them why he was leaving, and it had not even crossed Charles's mind to tell them. He just walked away, leaving the Press people to do whatever it was that they needed to do for the rest of the mission.

The rest of the day was spent by the whole press crew doing on the spot interviews with whoever wanted to talk with them on the island. Oh, and they had to be okay having a camera shoved in their face. All while someone was playing twenty questions with them. Not many of the locals wanted to take one for the team, as they say. All while they were being interviewed for long, if at all. Ruth later would say that it was a lot like filming in a small town in America.

Unless you had an inside person in that town, it was hard to break the ice. It was even harder to get people to open up for you on camera. In larger cities, when you pulled out a camera, the device was like a flame for the locals to gravitate to like moths.

The key, it turned out, was the restaurant. It was just north of the pier that the press team had landed on. That is where Mell and Ruth ran into one of the academics who was working on his notes and drinking what looked like moonshine while he worked away. He was surrounded by the locals, and they did not seem to notice him.


	29. Chapter 29 A Few New Dots

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and follow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 29: A Few New Dots**

Earth still Mid March 2019

Drake White was working on his laptop and reviewing some of the handwritten notes he had made during the day. He had spent all day walking around all of the inhabited buildings on the island that he could easily find. He was a biologist by trade, with a focus on animals but he could do and was comfortable doing a lot of other tasks in the field. Those were two of the reasons that he was on this island.

Currently he was trying to figure out about the different animals he had heard about. He was surprised that the Colonials had been able to save any of them in their Exodus. Or what they might have found in their years of traveling through space before they found Earth. So far, he had found them raising some chickens and they had at least a few canines around. At least, according to the rumors that he had been hearing from the people he talked to. After talking to a few more people he found out that they were mostly still in the fleet and on New Kobol along with the goats and sheep.

He had warned everyone he had talked to to keep all of the Colonial bloodlines separated from the local animals at all costs. He had been told that the locals who had lived on these islands before the Colonials showed up had let out, or allowed to escape, several animals over the years they had lived here. The Colonials were finding many types of animals, and they had taken in many of the less wild ones over the past year. He wanted to let them know that crossbreeding might cause some bad genetics to be passed onto their indigenous animals. He told them that the damage could happen faster then they might think was possible.

Drake White was not your normal Ph D, and he had not taken the usual path to get those honored letters hung after his name. He had been born and raised outside of a very rural small town near the Arkansas and Missouri state lines. He had been one of the smartest kids all the way through High School, and he had suffered the hard knocks for being known for being so smart. He had gotten the last laugh when he was able to win a Tyson food scholarship to the University of Arkansas. Even with the scholarship though, his school debts had climbed to ever higher and higher levels.

He was well on his way to a finished Master's degree in higher animal biology when the money ran out and his student loan debts closed in to the level of, _"you have got to be kidding me."_ He did what most kids from his part of the world did when they wanted to get out and off the farm or needed money. He joined the military on a break between classes and the odd jobs he had been doing. Those parts of the United States had a lower population density but somehow still supplied more warm bodies than the bigger cities. They also won a higher percentage of combat awards than their big city brethren from around the country.

He did a total of six years in US Army uniform. The four years of his first contract were so that the Army would pay off his backlog of school loans for him. The next, and shorter two-year contract was to put as much money as he could away in the bank. That was going to pay the everyday bills and make sure he was able to use the GI Bill to the fullest extent that he could for as many classes as he could.

In his time in the military he had been very busy. He had done one tour in the kitty litter box, two tours in the rock pile, as well as some classes in-between. His time in the service had let him see different areas of the world not only for free but also while getting a paycheck. It had also showed him that he could pick up local languages very quickly. He had also learned a few other tricks about living away from the normal First and Second world nation. After his second contract was up, he knew what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

He returned to college and finished the rest of his required load at the top of his class. He changed his focus to look more on the genetic drift of isolated animal populations from around the world. He did his internship in Greece, taking samples of some species of animals, then go around comparing those samples to like animals on a hundred different islands. Then he did the same thing to another hundred different locations, this time on the mainland of what most people called the old country.

After completing his internship, he went around the world a few dozen more times, just in a different uniform. His latest job had been in Northern Arkansas at a large cat refuge for the last year, working for the San Diego Zoo. He was trying to track DNA issues that might come up in the breeding of large cats for pets. The people paying the bills wanted to know what they might be passing along to normal zoo animals who might not have the staff to catch something like that early enough. If there were issues in the zoo, it would not take long to jump to different and a growing number of Zoos.

This refuge was one of the largest of its kind in the nation. It was specialized in taking in those types of animals off the hands of those too dumb to know that having a Mountain lion or Siberian Tiger as a pet, well, that might not be such a great idea after all. It was amazing what happens when someone realizes that a three hundred pound cat is wanting more than a can of tuna for dinner and he might be on the menu.

When the San Diego Zoo found out about the Colonials starting to open themselves up to academics, they looked at who might be the best to send from the full roster of the organization's entire employee database. It was not a short list, and the bios on each person were tens of pages long or more. A few were thirty pages long and were as hollow as a church bell. Drake's boss had him flying back to California so fast that his two undergrad assistants had to send his work back to the Zoo themselves, and that was still days later. As for what happened to all of that data, it would sit in the main data library unfinished for almost two full years.

Drake was not picked for this job because he was the best in the world in his field of work. He was only considered number nine in the US for his job set and degrees. His world ranking was quite a bit lower than that number. Why was he chosen and rushed back to the zoo's main campus? It was because he was well known for two things which might be very useful in this new opportunity. It was not like the zoo had a perfect playbook for something like this, but they did have a good idea on where to start.

One of the skills that he was known for was that he could get locals to like him and support him without spending a boatload of money. The second skill he was known for was that he had the smallest support footprint that the Zoo had ever needed to send out into the field for someone in the last thirty years. It did not matter if the site was subarctic, or in the lowest and hottest desert. He could pack in everything that he needed for a week of field work all on his own back. The kicker and the last reason of why he was picked was because he spoke Greek, Italian, and had a strong base of Latin already. All three languages would be very useful according to all the reports that the leadership of the zoo could find on short notice.

* * *

Drake had been rushed the whole way to meet a condensed timeline. When he landed back in San Diego, he was given only few days to get ready before he would be gone again for an extended period of time. He barely had time to think or do anything else. When he boarded the Spearhead class ship in Tahiti, he was carrying everything he thought he might need. He only had three bags in total, and they would not have been called light by anyone in the TSA or the USPS. Even with all of the rushing, he had missed the first batch of academics to go to the island.

That did not mean that he did not have a huge smile on his face as he made his way up the gangplank. He had an old army duffel bag on his back, a large Alice pack with metal frame across his chest, and an overloaded medium sized hiking pack thrown over one arm. His only free hand held his favorite ironwood walking stick, given to him a long time ago by an old army buddy. In all, he was packing a little over one hundred and thirty pounds of stuff, spread over his normal two hundred and five pound body frame. He could carry this load for only a few miles a day. After that, it would get more uncomfortable every quarter mile or so he had to hump those overloaded bags. He was not as young as he used to be, but he had been to this dance before. It was not that long ago since he last had to do this type of humping.

The duffel bag held everything he would need to set up his base camp and a few other odds and ends to make life worth living. He had looked up what he could on the internet while he was traveling, and then asked a few people he had time to see or call on the phone who had been to these islands for vacations. He used all of these information sources to help plan out his equipment for the long list of items his boss wanted him to check out. There was no way that he could complete all of the listed data points on that list, not if he had a month to do the work. If he had a full team with transportation and power generation, that was another matter but for now, it was a solid no.

The duffel had a medium weight military sleeping bag system that had waterproof and windproof outer layers as standard. It also held his air pillow and two of the old standby OD green wool blankets. The blankets were for two reasons. One, if he was near the equator when the sun went down, it could get very cool late at night after a hot day of beating sun and humidity. The other use was that they could act as a pair of thin but opaque walls.

On top of that fabric was his puncture resistant air mattress. This would lift him almost four inches off the dirt once he had filled the four airbladders using the lightweight handpump he had bought with it. On top of that mattress was a waterproof canvas collapsible bucket. This served to carry water and also had a showerhead affixed to its bottom. On top of the bucket were two complete changes of clothes. In the very top of the cylindrical bag and filling out wherever he could shove and wedge them in were six days of ration packs, not unlike the MRE's he had eaten during his army days. It was a lot to fit into that large canvas carry all. Then again, he had years of practice knowing what would fit and where to be able to best use its limited space.

The Alice pack had his quick popup tent, bug netting, and two twenty lumen solar lights. They were not unlike what could be obtained at a lawn care box store. Drake liked them because they were cheap, sturdy, and gave great light for almost eight solid hours. On top of that, extra sets of batteries were easy to come by in most parts of the world. He also had a small handheld and hand powered emergency LED flashlight along with two more days of MRE type meals. The rest of the pack was filled with any other equipment he thought he would need in the field.

There were things like wet wipes, waterproof resealeable bags, personal hygiene items, and a few sets of underclothes all in small waterproof bags. Along the sides of the tough fabric, against the pack's metal frame, was his sat phone, an extra charged battery for the phone and an extra battery for his laptop. Hanging off to one side of his old Alice pack was one of his most notable and identifiable items, an old and trusty folding e-tool attached to a side mount with metal clips. This was the signpost for those who were in the know that this person had been in the dirt before.

The hiking pack had his liquid camel pack, his work laptop in a watertight and airtight bag and a few items for trade. It also held his seven inch long multi tool, the holster for his beloved .45 ACP M1911, and the powerful weapon's three extra magazines, all loaded. The small hiking bag also had both of his machetes, and the super sharp High-Carbon Stainless Steel Bowie knife. It also held the most important item of all... soft bathroom paper.

The three bags all had hard metal locks and they were specially reinforced to keep cutters from opening them without having to go through the problem of dealing with the locks. That last modification to his bags he had made personally after a trip through a Costa Rican port. Then, someone had walked up behind him and cut an opening in the bottom of his hiking bag. That had given them access to the valuables inside, bypassing the locked top or sides. He had not even found out until he got back to the hotel. That was an experience he did not want to repeat, and so had made the changes as soon as he could.

Drake was the first of the academics to show up at his ride to the Colonial controlled island by a good margin of time. The crewmembers of the small cargo ship were still loading and tying down the cargo which was the primary reason for the run out of the harbor today. He had even beat the BBC news team's arrival by over a few hours. There was a very important reason for his early arrival, and one that he had run into many times in his travels around the world.

The only item that caused him any issues at customs inspections anywhere was the firearm. Tahiti had very strict weapons control laws. Fortunately the San Diego Zoo had already let the locals know what Drake was bringing and where he was going to be spending most of his time. This was not the first time Drake had taken his small sidearm with him on a Zoo job. It was agreed that since the person carrying the weapon was only going to be on their island for a day or two tops, they would look the other way. At least, until he had left their island. When he came back, it would be locked in a special shipping case and mailed back home.

No one knew how the Colonials would react to the weapon being carried by a noncitizen. The cargo ship's captain and purser did not have any issues with the weapon Drake was carrying. They had seen too much and heard more to make the threat of a single 100-year-old design such as the .45 ACP on their ship seem little more than small potatoes. He was just told to show and tell the Colonial inspectors about the weapon as soon as he could and before leaving the loading pier. The Captain of the M/V Spearhead had offered to lock the weapon away in the captain's safe if the Colonials did not allow him to keep it. He could pick it up at the shipping company's office when he passed by Tahiti on his return trip home.

When the armed Colonials landed on the twin hulled ship Drake pulled out his weapon, unloaded it and handed it over to the black clad inspectors. The two inspectors he had tracked down had no issues with it or any of the bladed implements he had. He made a mental note to see what an M58 was when he got the chance. The inspector thought that his 1911 looked a lot like that Colonial designed weapon. He was still wondering about the chuckling the two black clad inspectors had given his weapon. That was the limit of his issues with the weapon. The ease of being cleared to carry a firearm in a strange country had surprised him. The state he lived in would have given him a harder time than these aliens had.

* * *

Drake put the weapon back into his pack and then made his way to the exit ramp he had been told would be used. He could feel his heart starting to beat faster as he neared the gangplank stored on the side of the ship. He only needed to look out one of the nearby windows in the ship's sides to see the island he was about to work on get closer and closer. By the time that the ship had finished docking, and the offloading ramp opened, he was almost jumping up and down in excitement like a six-year-old on Christmas morning to start his work.

Drake had been able to carry all his stuff off the ship in one load. Just like he had carried it all onto the ship in the first place eleven hours before. He had been helping some other Ph D's, so he was not outside when the Press group left the small dock. After helping until his back started to hurt from the junk he was carrying off the vessel, he noticed that they still had a lot more stuff. Finally he decided he had helped enough and took his stuff off the dock near the ship and put them at the end of the pier. By then he was also quickly getting tired of dealing with his fellow academics, as they complained louder and louder about having to carry their own stuff.

Only two other researchers were ready to go when the convoy of large golf carts had pulled away from the pier to drop them off at their assigned home down the road. Drake and the other pair of researchers had enjoyed the slow drive through the green tunnel of a road on the nearly silent transport. They were just as surprised that they also were given a large house for their use as base camp. Drake was impressed with the field camp to be. It was a lot better living condition than he had planned on having access to.

The three people had started unpacking and setting up their sleeping areas in the large and empty house. It was only about a half mile to the pier, so he talked the others into walking back to the pier and helping unload again to help their future roommate. Each of the three had made two round trips between pier and home before deciding that the fools could carry the rest of their own items themselves. The now five in number academics who had all of their equipment moved from the dock into the camp spent the evening lying on the floor, passing jokes and ideas about how they were going to do whatever type of data collecting they needed to do.

By the time dark fully fell on the island, all of this group of academics were in the home that was to be the base camp for their mission to study the alien humans. It was not a pleasant experience for Drake when the number of people in the house doubled. At around midnight, Drake finally had enough of the drama building up in the house like a hot water heater with the safeties disabled. He moved his tent to the very nice front porch of the home. He did not even bother to tell anyone that he had moved.

It took him some time to tie up his bug netting in the open area of the deck. Soon it was fixed so that it covered one end of the large outside deck from ceiling to porch rails, down to the wood decking under his feet. He had inspected the decking during the daylight while on a break to catch his breath. Even then he had figured the twelve-room building would eventually prove too small for its assigned inhabitants. The deck's wooden boards were tight enough to keep bugs from going through the seams. That meant that he only put a single layer of bug netting down on the wooden deck to cover that avenue of threat from the small attackers.

He had his two-man sized two-second popup tent out and fully set up with literally a single hand flip. The solar water distiller was tied to the wooden rails so that the sun would hit it most of the next day. It took him longer to make the two trips back into the house's interior to get the rest of his things he had unpacked after sundown than it did to set up his new living area in the first place. He was relaxing with his yardlight making notes for the next day within a half hour after deciding to move out into the night air.

The first item on his list was to find a more rustic campsite as far away from the drama queens inside this house as he could get. He had a feeling that the people in the house were going to make good on the noise about complaining to the locals regarding their treatment to date. He hoped that if he was far enough away he would not be in the line of fire. He had seen it happen before and he would do whatever it would take not to be caught like that again.

Drake popped the battery out of the solar yard light, and it turned so dark that it took a while for his eyes to adjust enough to find his sleeping bag zipper. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he had a sad smile on his face.

 _Well D, you had always wanted to work with some of the most respected people in their fields. Next time be careful what you wish for. You might be unlucky enough to get it._ He was asleep as soon as the thought flew through his mind.

A side benefit of Drake's new location was that as soon as the sun rose, he knew about it. The sunbeams drove daggers into his eyes, and he was awakened by God's own alarm clock. He knew that he was the first one out and about because the house was still quiet as a mouse inside. He did his morning hygiene and locked up some lose items around his sleeping area. He did not enter the building, and he did not need to. After a little food from his duffel bag under the bug net, he was ready to start his first full day on the island.

He had his hiking bag over one shoulder and was heading down the wide steps before the first person was moving around inside the house. He started walking back down the road that the golf carts had driven through the day before. Even with a smile on his face this early in the morning, it did not take him long to figure out that he was being followed. The tail or shadow was not trying to be subtle about what was going on. When Drake turned and made eye contact with the person following him, the tail waved a hand and smiled back at him. He almost looked bored at having to follow the visitor.

Drake had had shadows assigned to him before in many countries, and not all of them were considered third world locations. So Drake waved back and went about his work like it was just another day on the job. He scouted around the area and quickly found about four different places that might be good for him to come back to and set camp at in the future. His favorite spot was on the beach near the old restaurant.

He thought the restaurant might be open to him, but he did not check on that before he decided where to set up his camp. He also made stops around the different homes where he could hear animal sounds coming from. He would write out notes to pass to whoever was at the home. They were to ask to see the animals that they might have, and more importantly why he would like to see them. All of them, to his surprise, let him see the animals he had heard from a distance.

He was even able to get three unique blood samples from animals that he was told had come from offplanet. He did all of this by the time he was feeling the need to eat again. He could have eaten one of his field food packages that he was carrying around in his backpack. Instead he wanted to see how the items he had brought to trade would do with this new set of inhabitants. The sooner he knew that, the sooner that he would be able to work out the best way to use them. He found a nice shade tree with an incredible view to take a little break in from all the walking and working.

Drake's shadow came forward when he signaled to join him under a shade tree on the side of black topped road. Drake was looking up at the man that was fit and in some kind of uniform that Drake could not tell the history of. He almost dropped his note pad when the shadow spoke.

"Yes, Mister White? Is there a problem?" The words were in very good English, even it had an odd accent. He even had a slight smile on his face when he saw the shocked look on the older man's face.

Drake blinked a few times and fought to get his mental feet under him. He had no idea how long he was looking up at his shadow before he spoke. "Ahhhh. It is getting close to lunch time for me. Is there any place a guy like me can get a hot meal?" Drake tried to keep his tone as light as he could while he recovered from the shock.

Drake had no idea that the man he was talking to had been born on the same planet as he but in a different universe and a few hundred years in the future. He had spoken clearly and if not slowly, it was in a steady meter. The odd accent was caused by what the people who study those types of things called language drift. Simply put, over the centuries that separated this Earth from Rifts Earth, the speech of the latter's people had changed and evolved. More changes occurred over the years spent with the Colonials.

Bobbie looked down at who he had been told was a field academic that liked to study various animals. He had been told already that he had a low powered sidearm. He had already made a few mental notes to update this man's file. This academic moved like a fully trained woodlands scout, not some schoolteacher. This was a person to keep an eye on just in case things went sideways. Bobbie was also wondering if this stranger might be a threat.

With a smile on his face, Bobbie gave a reply to the visibly stunned man. "Yes, you passed what we just call The Restaurant back about a mile or so. It's open from dawn until they feel like shutting down for the night. A few times it has stayed opened all night, when a good party was going."

The two went to the place in question at what most people would have called a fast walk. It was the restaurant over by marina that Drake had seen before. The two men did not talk that much as they walked the rest of the way. No matter how much Drake tried, his shadow was not going to be chatty. It did not take Drake long before he could smell the food cooking somewhere nearby. He had no idea what it might be, but it smelled good to him.

When he walked into the semi-lit building, Drake could tell it was going to be a lot different from any other place he had been in while on the job. It looked like any other bar and restaurant combination you would see in the States. Only there were very fewer lights and there were no TV's playing the news or sports. It was a cross of modern and something from the Old West, or maybe a movie set. The one word that popped into his mind was different.

Drake looked around after his eyes adjusted from being in the bright sun of the outdoors. Drake's shadow walked beside him and took a seat at a table that would let him have a line of sight across the whole room. Drake decided that he would take a page from those old Westerns. He threw back his shoulders and walked up to the bar and took a seat like he owned the place. Not long after taking a seat at a very normal looking but well-worn stool, he waved a hand at a man at the other end of the bar.

He unpacked some of the items from his shoulder bag and put them on the bar for the proprietor to look at. Between the two, he was able to get across that he wanted to trade items for a hot meal. He also gave out a sample of some dried spices, though that did not go over as well as had hoped. The habanero chili sauce on one hand, that was a big hit with the bartender. The black pepper, not so much. The one item that went over the best with the local was what he normally used to bribe kids.

Drake always brought with him a dozen or so bars of Cadbury's high heat chocolate bars. The chocolate was not the best tasting in his opinion but it did have an advantage. One was that it did not need to be kept cool, staying solid even in the high heat areas he had worked in before. When he was in the military he had learned from some of the older NCO's that if you had candy, the local kids would keep you out of trouble or away from some of the more dangerous areas you might have to patrol. The local kids were smart, and they knew when things were going to go sideways.

The six-ounce foil wrapped candybar got him a free lunch with ice cold water, and even an ice-cold beer of all things. He was quite pleased with himself and the deal he had made with the restaurant/bar manager. When he was planning this trip he had not expected to find a perfectly cooked twelve ounce top cut steak with corn and green beans along with two drinks. If he had wanted wild pig he could have gotten an even larger meal. It sure beat the time he had to eat campfire cooked sloth for three days in a row. Besides, he was able to start moving away from using his note pad and using his tongue to communicate with. It was an odd mix of Greek, Latin and English with loanwords from something totally different. He always liked speaking as the locals did, so he kept pushing them to use what was natural for them.

After a nice lunch and a few refreshing cold drinks, Drake went about looking for more items to add to his small data catalog. Drake and his shadow left the bar and went back out into the bright and hot day. He made sure to list the local animals and put the ones the Colonials had brought on a separate list. He was so into the zone that it was only when he had problems seeing to take a blood sample from an unwilling chicken that he realized how late it was.

* * *

Drake spent almost an hour walking back to the large house that had been set aside for the researchers' use. It was full dark by the time he made it back. The day had gotten totally away from him. He was in a very good mood as he walked in the dark. He was doing work that he loved, and the locals were both very friendly and helpful at the same time. That was something that he had only run across a few times in his career, at least on the first day of expedition. Normally it took a few weeks to get even close to this kind of relationship built up with the locals.

He was on the front steps of the large home and he could already hear the drama playing out inside the house. Drake stopped moving and listened to what was going on inside the house before he opened the door. This turned out to be a very good thing for him to have done. From what he could understand from the bits and pieces of the voices coming through the thin door, the drama was centered around how badly the group inside were being treated by the locals. There was a pointed remark about being forced to carry their items and gear and having to walk around the whole island to get the data they wanted. Why should they have to walk? The Colonials had electric cars on the island so why couldn't they use a few? The voices then went on about how rudely they had been treated when they brought their justifiable complaints to the local leadership.

When the academics had started to complain about not having power and water, Drake noticed that the inside of the house was lit while it was very dark outside. Drake knew a few of those voices. One belonged to the group of four researchers that had been on the island three days longer than this new group had been. One of the other talkers was not a well-liked person, on both the island and the mainland, by most normal people. Drake thought that he was a backstabbing little shit even before he had to spend eleven hours on the same small ship.

Drake felt his temper rise as he ducked down a little so that he would not be seen through the glass covered windows. He went to the area he had set up as his living area the night before. It did not take him long to see the tear in the bug netting. He did a quick inventory and found both of his solar lights were missing, as were his two blankets and the air mattress. He did not want to turn on his flashlight to take a better look. He had a very good idea of what had happened, and why. This was not the first time someone had ransacked his camp, and he knew that it would not be the last time. That did not mean that he was going to let it slide.

Drake could not stand a thief. He did not notice but his right hand went to his hip and his fingers were tapping the butt of his pistol that had been riding there all day. When the fingernail started clicking on the metal. He looked down at the hand and the weapon it was resting on. It did not take long for him to understand what his subconscious wanted to do. The bad part was that he was not sure it was just his subconscious.

 _"If only it could be that simple,"_ he thought to himself. He could feel the cold weapon's butt on his fingers.

Drake packed up his remaining items quickly and just as quickly packed them away in the available open areas in his three bags. He was not going to stay somewhere where he could not trust that someone else would not try to take his things while he was out working. He was working as fast, but also as carefully, as he could. Even If this had been the jungles, he would have moved his camp after an event like this. When you were stolen from, you had just become prey and prey had a tendency to die in the jungle. It did not matter if you were in the wilds of Africa or on the streets of New York City. Prey was prey, and predators were predators. It did not matter whether they had two legs or four. They all followed that Darwinian instinct that had been ingrained into their DNA through half a billion years of evolution.

Drake moved his bags down the short stairs before he entered the building. He would not leave his missing items here if he could help it. As soon as the door opened into the living room of the large home, he was greeted with what he had expected to see. The room was filled with light from both of his solar yard lights. He spent a few seconds scanning the room, letting his dark-adapted eyes adjust to the brightness in the room. He could feel the blood pumping in his arms and thumping in his ears. His body was priming itself for a confrontation and a battle.

He always kept one of the yard lights charged in case of emergency, so he very rarely used both of them at the same time. Now if he needed to work late, he would have to use a handheld light that he would have to keep recharging by spinning a short handle every five to seven minutes. That was going to take both extra energy and time added on top of what was needed to do his work. This was just another example of people not planning.

Ron Ekers Victor looked up from the half circle of Ph D's. He was acting like a head priest presiding over his coven of devout followers. Ron had to fight to keep the sneer off his face when his eyes were drawn to the opening door. He failed, badly. Ron did not like Drake. He considered him to be just another overpaid Veterinarian. After all, the rest of the people in the room were Ivy League graduates. Not one of them had come from some down south diploma mill.

"Ahh Drake, there you are. Where were you? We could have used your help moving the rest of the equipment off the pier to this shack." The tone that Ron used on Drake was not unlike what one normally used on a dog who had just crapped on the carpets.

Drake looked at the fat little jackwagon. He was sitting on his air mattress. The Ph D in astrophysics had folded the mattress in half so that he could sit on one part while the other half of the mattress was between his back and the wall like a no legged overstuffed air-filled recliner. Drake could hear the tone in the voice and he could see the expression of contempt from the former head of the IUA. Drake had a list of things he wanted to say but tried to defuse the situation a little. He forced himself to keep his hand away from his side arm. One part of his brain was telling him that even though it might feel good, blood would be hard to get out of the air mattress.

"I did help move some of your things up from the dock last night, if you recall. It's not my fault that you did not plan better. The posted notice I reviewed said that visitors are supposed to be self-supporting. Besides, the San Diego Zoo is paying me to do their work. Not to work for you or even help you do anything. So why should I help you? And speaking of your stuff? Why are you using my things without even taking the time to be asking me first?" Drake's southern accent got a lot heavier than it normally was with each passing word. It was a sure sign that he was about to lose his temper.

Ron was surprised by the outburst, and the tone of the question that had been shot back at him. No one talked to him like that. His blood pressure started to rise, and he felt his own anger start to build deep inside. The last time someone had done that to him was when he was leading in the debate to downgrade the American named planet Pluto to something he thought was more fitting in this modern world. He had not liked it then, and he did not like it any better today. He quickly decided he would put this vet in his place.

"You had extra, and you were not around. We took them so that they could be put it to better use. You know, for the betterment of everyone." He waves one hand around the room to show who he thought that betterment was for.

Drake made three very quick steps towards Ron. Each step sounded like sharp cracks of thunder. Then he reached down and grabbed a hand full of white shirt, and he pulled up the shorter but fatter and less fit man to his feet. The fat little man did not stay on his feet but for a split second. It was just long enough for Drake to get a better grip, and then he was off the ground and nose to nose with the larger, stronger, and way fitter man. Drake was letting his inner NCO come out all over the academic.

"By better use, you mean that it was for your use. Don't you, Ron? Tell me Ron, do you know what the Colonials do to thieves? It was posted on their web site for some time now. I bet that you did not even read it before you had your assistant pack your bags for you."

Drake was a large man, and he had not skipped the gym, at least not when he was in the field which was its own kind of gym entirely. Holding the man three inches in the air still was not easy, but he could do it for long enough to make his point to his target and the rest of the room. One of the best ways to get in the good graces of the locals was to help them do manual labor. He had helped do a few odd jobs today, and his muscles were still warmed up.

Ron was taken back and started sputtering, and it took him several tries to get his mouth to work properly. "Get your hand off me you overpaid vet! You have no right to touch me! I'm tenured! I will have your shit mucking job for this!"

Ron looked into the taller man's eyes and got the feeling that he had missed something, but he was having a hard time getting his all-powerful mind to work right, to figure out what he had missed. So he did what he had always done, run his mouth some more. That might not have been the best move on his part. It might have worked with people like him but Drake was not like him. At least, not in that regard.

"What do I care about these people's laws? I'm an English subject! You big oaf! Now put me down this instant, you overpaid vet!" His voice was rising in volume with each word. It was just too bad that it started to break after about the sixth word. Adding volume had worked for Ron before when he had pushed arguments.

Drake gave the fat man, whom he now had to use both hands to hold in the air, a bit of space. He let him down a little, but still only just enough so the toes of his shoes were just touching the wood floors. He slowly turned the man ninety degrees, so that Ron was away from Drake's air bed. The silvered haired man did a kind of tip toe and skip dance as he was forcibly moved against his will.

When Ron was where Drake wanted him he pulled him up close until he was nose to nose with the older man once more. He pitched his voice to carry to every corner of the room full of other academics.

"You're not home right now, you fat little toad of a man. You have to obey their laws. Now I want my things back! Now! I have a printed inventory, so if something is missing? I will know, and I will go talk to the locals! If they will bomb the FSB for messing with their computers, what do you think on their islands does a thief get?" Drake did not even notice that with every other word he said he tended shake the other man a little.

Drake took the risk and glanced around the room before he finished. "I will tell you. Its ten years hard labor. Did you all even read the story about the one scientist that made it out with them? His name was like Baltar or something. He was considered to be the smartest man among thirteen billion people. More to the point, he was like Hawking is to us. And they put him in a composting machine for the crimes he was convicted of. You all might want to keep that in mind if you want to start playing games with them. Or anyone else on this pair of islands, for that matter. Now where is my stuff!?"

The last part was a not a shout, more of a hiss that passed his lips when he said the word stuff. It was said a lot softer than the rest of what he said, but he did need and want the rest of the room to overhear it. The frightened look on Ron face was enough to reinforce the soft words and the stolen items appeared at Drake's feet like magic. Drake looked down at the grouping of items, and then let his fingers loosen just enough. Ron fell to the wood floor with a wet thud.

Now, with both of his hands free, Drake went to one knee to collect the items off of the floor. He was reaching to pick up one last thing when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. With the slight movement, Drake's old training kicked in. He moved out of the way of the kicking foot only a second before it would have struck his ribs with bone breaking force. That is, if he had not moved just enough. He countered the power kick with an upper cut of his own. It started at the floor and ended at the kicker's nose, square on. Drake had no idea of who his attacker was. He was only reacting with muscle memory from a few too many combat zones.

Ron had not been expecting to get hit, much less in the face with such force. In all of the movies he had seen, if you kicked someone that was bent over they just stayed on the ground. Instead he went flying backwards when the large fist came out of nowhere to strike him. He did not land on the floor after the massive punch but he did put an impressive hole into both sides of the drywall partition. It was the exact size of his head and neck with just a bit of shoulder on one side of the thin wall that opened into a different room. He also did not slide down the wall. He just stayed stuck in the wall, with blood flowing down his rat face and soaking into the drywall around his profile. No one in the room went to go see if their would be leader was alive or not. They were just stunned. It had been decades since anyone had laid hands on any one of them.

Drake gave his hands a shake to get the blood back into his fingers and to see if he broke a knuckle from the strike. People would be surprised at how much damage could happen to the fist of the person who swung it and connected with another person's bone. He made sure he had all of his missing items one more time, then he left the stunned group of academics in the now very dark house. They were not his problem. He was thinking that it was just too bad that the local bugs did not carry anything really that bad. Maybe if they had a good case of Valley Fever, it would get their attention.

Drake used his hand cranked small light to repack the last items into his three bags as quickly as he could. He was just one man. Even if he was big, if they all decided to gang up on him they could overwhelm him very easily. He did not think that they would really do that. He just wanted to get away from a situation that should not have come up in the first place. He had had a feeling that something was going to happen that first night. He was kicking himself. He knew that he should have moved camp first thing in the morning and not gone out into the field. He was just so excited to be on the island where people had access to the stars.

He had just put the duffel bag on his back when he heard the first raised voice coming from the dark building. Drake looked toward the sound but did not slow his movement as he walked into the dark. He knew that it was a little over a mile's hike to the only place he knew was open and had lights. More importantly, it was also a place that he knew he could get a drink at. The drink he was wanting right about then, well let's just say that it was not water. And it did not matter how much ice it had in it this time. He would be drinking as if had spent the day in the Sahara.

What Drake did not know was that in the concealing dark of night, a pair of Colonials had been in the woodline watching the house. They had been there even before Drake had made it back to the house. They had made a report to the command center about the fight, and about Drake leaving the house. They also had reported on a few other odds and ends that they had observed after the last report, also in the dark.

After the reports had been sent up, money changed hands between the pair of watchers. They had seen the theft of the one working academic's items. A few side bets had been put on what would happen when the big guy found out. Drake had also won a few points in a lot of mental books just for standing up for himself. When word got out about the single punch and who he had punched halfway through a wall, well some of the drinks he would be having over the next few days were going to be paid for by others in secret.

* * *

Drake was walking down the dark hard top road with his small light in his off hand. It was not just to light the path, but also to let anyone driving down the road know he was there. After about ten minutes of walking, he thought he lucked out. He did not hear the electric motor, but one of the large golf carts did show up driving down the road towards him. He had seen the blue white LED head lamps first through the trees and large bushes. Before he knew it, the two-lane road he was walking down was fully illuminated. He was by then already on the side of the road, out of the traffic lane.

He had no idea that it, and the driver, had been sent just for him. So far, he was the most liked of the new group of visitors. He was rated right up there with some of the Aussies who had been at the cookout. The driver was one of the few young Rift Earthers who was thinking about making this version of Earth his long-term home. So he spoke very understandable English and as luck would have it he had been on duty tonight. Thus, he did not have to be dragged out of bed.

The large golf cart came to a stop and the young man called out. "Hey Prof! Where're you going? Are you looking for night animals now?" The tone was light but had an odd accent for someone speaking English.

Drake had no idea who the driver was, and he did not care. He was tired, and the long day of walking he had already put in did not help. The adrenaline had already worn off, and he did not want to think about that right now. He also did not want to talk about what happened back in the house he was supposed to be using as base camp.

"I was going over to have a hot dinner. Just don't feel like having a cold packaged meal tonight." Drake could hear the tiredness in his own voice.

The young man and had an odd little smile on his face, one that was hard for the other man to see in the dark and shadows cast by the three lights. "Me too! Do you want a ride? I'm going that way, and I have room."

Drake only needed half a second to decide. He took about half a minute to put his heavy load into the back seats of the electric cart. By the end of that short amount of time, his butt was in contact with the cart's white seat cushion and it was starting to move down the road again.

It was a short drive to the large building that had been made to cater to the tourists and marina crowds years before. Now it was supporting the Colonials and any visitors that might stop by. It was quickly turning into the center of most social activities that took place on the two islands. Drake dropped his bags right inside the main door and his driver went to a random table in the room. The room was over half full and the voices were like a pleasant hum in the background. The only thing that was missing was a piano being played or an old western on TV.

The woman working the bar for the final shift of the day was the night owl of her small little family group. She had heard about the sweet treat one of the new strangers had traded a meal for earlier in the day. Her husband had given her a small bite of the dark brown block, and it was magical. Her husband had described the man, so when the man entered the restaurant she knew it was him as soon as she saw him. The odd-looking weapon on his hip was what let her know that he was the person she was hoping to see again. When the man put two of the large bags on the floor and looked up, she patted the area in front of one barstool and put a glass of ice water in front of that spot when he started moving towards it. She kept her face still, not wanting to let this stranger know how glad she was to see him. Not only was she the night owl, she also was the mind behind the business.

When Drake looked around, he saw a woman standing behind the bar. It looked like she was looking something up on a notebook computer lying flat on the bar top. Overall there were about fifteen or twenty other people spread around the restaurant, but the bar was empty of people. Drake was a little let down that it was not the middle-aged man from lunch.

All of that changed when she made eye contact with him and pointed to an open seat. He had to smile a little when she put a glass of ice water near the seat. He still had a slight smile on his face as he brought his small bag over and took the offered seat. With a bigger smile on his face he unzipped one of the side pockets of his backpack. When he looked back up. The bartender was looking at him with a patient look on her face. It was not unlike the look his mother gave him whenever he was presenting his latest test result to her.

Drake started to speak slowly in the mixed language he had been quickly picking up. "I was here for lunch, and I was able to trade for a meal. Can we do that for another meal?" He had been to places that offered a stranger food even when they were short. Still, it was best not to abuse or assume anything with a new and strange culture.

The woman gave a lazy smile, and responded in halting but pretty clear English. "You have something to trade, like you did before?"

Drake gave his own smile and the two started to work out a deal. In the end, she let him have all he could eat and drink for another two of the chocolate bars. Drake had made certain that she was sure about the trade, making clear that he intended to have a few drinks tonight before he closed the deal. She just simply held out her hand for the pair of candy bars. With a smile on his face, he pulled the candy bars out of his pack. With the deal done, he went to a well worn round table near the bar. It was just far enough from the next occupied table that he could work without being interrupted too often.

Drake finished almost an exact repeat of his lunchtime meal. Except this time after his beer, something a lot different was brought out for him to drink. Something in the more leaded department than the beer had ever been. The operator had brought him a water glass filled about three fingers deep with the Colonial equivalent of moonshine. He gave the glass an odd look as it was brought out, but returned to his work thinking that it was going somewhere else.

Drake looked up from his work and gave the older woman a look when the glass was sat down near his forearm. She only waved to the glass and waited for the fun to begin with a mischievous grin on her face. Drake took a light sniff of the clear liquid, and his eyebrows shot up at its possible proof. Drake had drunk moonshine more than a few times before. He was from one of the southern states after all. If every second uncle did not have a still of some kind working in the summer, then they would know who had one and would buy some of the product coming from them in a backwood alley.

It just was their way of dodging the taxman more than anything. The funny part was that they would often end up paying more per pint than if they had bought an equal amount from a taxed liquor store. That did not matter to the people who bought the stuff. It was the thought of breaking the law that mattered more to them than the price they were paying in greenbacks.

Drake had done what he had always done when offered some of the local moonshine in a new area. He put a crapload of crushed black pepper in the glass after the first small sip of the liquid fire. He had to admit it was not that bad tasting by itself. It even had a flavor of some kind, though not necessarily a good flavor. That is, before the flavor was covered up by the burning that was starting in his stomach and working its way around his body. The fire was still spreading in Drake's body when he put the pepper in the glass.

This addition to his drink was noticed by others in the bar for one reason. He was the only Earthborn local in the place. When Drake took a second drink and did not gag that much then he knew that the pepper trick was not going to help this batch. Now he was kicking himself for saying he wanted a strong drink. He should have stayed with the Hop Hug instead. It was a case of being careful what you asked for. He still finished the glass. It was just slow work.

When his second glass was brought over to him, he broke down and dug deep into his goodies bag after the woman had left. He pulled out one of the six sticks of three-inch-long light brown cinnamon hidden deep in there and put it in the glass, letting it sit and soak for a while. While that was soaking, he went back to work. That was how Ruth and her crew found him when they stopped by the restaurant.

* * *

Ruth and her group were back in the home that was going to be their working and sleeping space. The day had gone a lot better than she had hoped, but it had not gone as well as she had wanted it to. After the interview with the Colonial base commander, they had tried to get some of the locals to talk to them. As she had feared, most did not want to talk to them, much less talk to them while being recorded. That did not mean that the rest of the day and evening was a total waste of time.

They had made it back to house or base camp just as the sun was starting to set. They had spent the next hour and a half working on both the recording and data files they had made all day. It had not taken Ruth long to decide that they all needed a break and relax a little. One of the things they had found out early on in the day was that there was a place where someone could relax, buy a meal and get some cold drinks. She had thought that maybe it was time to have a little teambuilding exercise, and have her people relax some in a more social setting. This had happened to her before a time or six.

Not everyone had wanted to go, and they were free to do whatever they wanted with their free time. This seemed to focus on playing some kind of computer game or reading a book of some kind packed in a carry-on bag. In short, different people liked to decompress in different ways. Ruth gathered together those who wanted to go, and left the house for a brisk walk in the night air.

The group entered the restaurant, and it was like a wave of noise breaking on to a sea cliff face. Ruth took care of her people, but she saw a face that she remembered from the ride out to these islands. She had thought that he was a member of the ship's crew, but now she knew better. That ship had left port before nightfall.

Mell had noticed the same thing and with a chin point to Ruth, walked over. It was said by both friends and enemies that Mell could smell a story at fifty paces, farther if they were in an enclosed space. She ordered a meal and was surprised to find out that a salad was not on the day's menu in this establishment. She had to order a steak and make sure to add some gym time to her calendar when she got home.

Mell walked over to the tall man working on a thin laptop with a pair of notebooks spread out over an abused wooden tabletop. "Sorry to interrupt, but you must be one of the researchers who were on the ship with us. So, how has your first full day on the island gone?" She had a feeling that all had not gone well for this man. She was thinking that there might be a story or two here. That is, if her instincts were right.

Mell was able to dig out what was bothering the tall, strong, dark haired man. That was just what good reporters did, and it was just second nature for the really good ones. Mell just happened to be one of the best in the world at her job. When her food was brought out, she excused herself from Drake's table. While she was eating, she brought Ruth up to speed on what she had learned.

Ruth made a note to talk with this Drake White after he returned stateside. She thought that he might be a useful addition to her already impressive list of contacts. She also took note of how the locals were treating him while her team devoured their meals with zeal if not good manners. Both Mell and she had quickly worked out one item already. That this Drake was going to be their way in. He would be able to get the locals over being camera shy with them.

Ruth was going to attach her second camera crew to him and see how that worked out. They would cover what he was doing, and they might even use some of that collected footage afterwards. While he did his work, the small news crews were to use the time interviewing the nearest Colonials.

When Ruth pitched the core idea, Drake said that he was game, although he made it clear to them that it would be well into the afternoon before he was ready to start up again. He still had to come up with a place to stay, because he was not going back to that house. Ruth offered to let Drake camp out in or near their lodging. It did have a nice if uncut yard. He was also welcome inside with the rest of her team if he so chose.

Both Mell and Drake were surprised by that offer, but he turned her down. Drake did not want to stay with people he did not know. Not again. Besides, from what he had gathered in their conversation, they were rather tight on space. At best he would be sleeping with someone's feet in his face. At worst he was going to have to sleep outside any way. He would prefer, if he was going to be sleeping outside, that it be in a space where he was not going to have to hear anyone snoring.

Mell and Ruth had to leave not long after agreeing to meet Drake back in the restaurant tomorrow. They had to walk a distance that they were not used to having to cover. At least not without hailing a taxi of some kind to help them to cover it. The rest of the group of reporters and support crew left with the two women on the long and dark walk back. More than a few of them already had to have someone standing to either side. They were to act as bumpers to keep them on a more or less straight line. Some people could not handle pure grain alcohol at such high proof. Still, all of them were in high spirts as they left the restaurant.

* * *

Drake was the last person who was not a local in the seating area of the restaurant. He was just starting to get tired when he pulled himself out of the chair he had been using. He had drunk enough to get to the point that the day's aches and pains were just an echo in the back of his mind. He took the cinnamon stick out of his third glass of moonshine, which was down to its last sip. He dried it off in a handy napkin, before returning it to sit beside the others in their little private package. Before he left the table, he took the last good-sized sip to empty the glass. He waved a wordless goodbye to the lady behind the bar as he headed towards the building's exit.

Drake grabbed his three bags and walked out into the night air without tripping over his own feet. That did not mean that he was that graceful, only that he did not trip over his own two feet. When the thick wooden door closed behind him, and his eye adjusted to the dark, about the only thing he could see was the small parking area that held not one car. It ran about three car lengths to the sea wall. At least, from what he could tell under the bright moonlight. To his left was the small boat marina, and to the right was a small open area that ended in a wooden fence that had seen better days. Even with very little light spilling out of the local buildings, he could see pretty well without any technology to help him.

Drake had the age old question to answer, and he did not have anyone to help him. Was it going to be some place you knew? Or will it be some place you didn't know? For whatever reason, he took the right side option and walked into the small grass covered lot. He had to stop not long after he started to walk crosscountry and pulled out his handheld light. That was because the half-moon that had been providing the light to walk by had now gone below the tree and building covered horizon while he had been walking. The buzz the drinks had given him had kept him from noticing the high-level clouds over his head.

With the handheld light powered up, he soon was casting a usable blue-white beam out to fifteen feet in front of him. He now could again make out the fence. It was just a weed covered line in the dark. The fence seemed to run from the sea wall into the darkness of land off to his right. Drake was able to push down a section of the cheap wooden wall and cross into the darker woods beyond with ease. After getting over the lower and almost flattened section of the wooden wall, he stopped again.

Now he could better make out a group of trees silhouetted in the star light. The image matched his mental image of the place he had seen before. The seawall looked to turn inland a little nearer the trees, but he did not know how far. Drake cast this blue-white beam left, right, up, and down a few times. After few casts of the light, he decided to follow the seawall for a while. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

The seawall did make a turn and it led to a group of about a dozen different sized trees that were growing in a small clump not long after it made that sharp turn. The area looked good enough, so Drake set up one of his lawn lights so that he could better see the local area. He worked quickly and put up his campsite by the light of the one solar device. There was no way that he could set up the whole camp to his usual specifications. It was too late, too dark, and he was just too tired. Both mentally and physically. The three triple shots might have had something to do with it.

He did not intend to sleep in the tent tonight. Sleeping on sandy ground without preparing it just opened one up to the biting sand fleas that loved the damp sand around the world. That was an experience Drake did not want to repeat. Not after seeing the results in the recent past. He had learned that and a few other things from seeing other people's mistakes. He just draped his bug netting between two trees using four convenient branches that were just thick enough to do the job. Then he used a mix of blankets and the netting to make an effective bug net covered sleeping hammock. This was not the first time he had to do something like this.

The quick open tent was holding his three bags after he replaced a few displaced items. He debated shutting off the solar yard light but in the end, he decided to leave one of them on. He tied it to one of handier overhead limbs near his suspended sleeping area. Now it could light the general area around him in slowly diming light. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the air pillow. He was just starting to be thankful that he had not deflated it while repacking. The thought died half formed and would remain forgotten for some time.

Behind the group of trees that Drake had selected to be his sleeping area was a well hidden dirt road that led directly to the island's main road. Drake was already fast asleep when an electric off-road golf cart rolled up the wet and well rutted dirt road. It and its single occupant come to a stop where it could see the clump of trees near the lagoon without being seen back from that location. The glow of the blue-white LED solar yard light had unwittingly allowed the driver to pick a good spot. All without having to use anything other than head lights and the good old mark one eyeballs. The driver flipped on his hat mounted IR Glasses, and he could see the orange glow of man's body heat suspended between two trees. He could even see that he was swaying slowly in the sea breeze.

The guard in the electric car stayed there until relieved at dawn. Drake just slept away, unaware that he was being watched not three hundred meters away. It was a very dull time watching him sleep, and the guards would change only every four hours. Any strange visitor needed to be watched. If one was armed then they needed to be watched just a little closer. This one might be better liked than the others, but that did not mean that he was no threat.

Drake slept for about seven hours without moving even an arm. After waking up, he went from not moving to getting moving within only a couple of minutes. He had to do his morning routine before he started clearing the tree clump or any of the other things. There were things that he needed to get done before the sun was much higher over his head. Before he could do anything else, before he could brush his teeth, and before he could get a little something into his stomach even.

He had to use his satphone to contact his boss back in California. He wanted to get his side of the story out before Ron beat him to the punch. After the hour-long phone call back with his boss, he was comfortable in knowing one key fact: That his job was secure no matter what Ron might say behind his back. Having been able to report that he had half a dozen different blood samples already, at least in safekeeping for now, was probably the key. To say that this news went over very well, that was the understatement of the year.

With the dreaded very long-distance phone call done, Drake felt very invigorated as he put the bulky device away. He spent the few remaining morning hours using his machete and items he had found around the clump of trees and the water's edge to make himself a very comfortable living area. He would stop and check his handywork before swinging the heavy blade a few more times. When he got tired of swinging the oversized knife, he walked around the water's edge and checked if he could find anything useful. All the while his solar batteries recharged in the bright tropical sun.

He still had some things he wanted to do to make his camp site a little homier, but he ran out of time to make his meeting with the news crew over at the restaurant. While he was gone, his camp site would get an uninvited visitor of the two-legged kind. It was one of the more experienced wilderness scouts who happened to be on a tour of duty on the island. He stared from one end of the camp site and thoroughly worked his way to the other side checking every square inch of it. Then he walked around the whole site in a slowly growing spiral.

He was quite impressed with the sleeping platform that Drake had built this morning without using any powered tools. The platform held the tent and almost all of the man's other items. It also was about three feet off the damp ground and its sand flea inhabitants. He also noticed that Drake already had the solar still up and working away. It looked to have about three gallons of sea water slowly being turned into drinkable water. It was a nice site and a very well set up one, and that was not counting that Drake only had the morning to work on it.

It was impressive enough that the scout took about forty images of the site. Just in case some of their people might need to use some of the ideas this man seemed to have developed. If the scout had not been told, he would have bet that the man had been working for at least two full days to have been able to set up a camp this nice and well thought out. It was again proof that this Drake White had some field skills. The scout was going to have to spend some time writing up his report, and even more time keeping an eye on this man.

* * *

Drake had no idea of what was going on behind him. He was heading for a meeting that he hoped would make getting his next grant or even maybe some major donation money come to his Zoo that much easier. He knew that the Brooklyn Zoo had racked in the money every time they made the news in a good way. That did not even count what that little TV show on cable had done for them over the last few years.

The news crew was sitting on the outside deck of the restaurant when he cleared the half collapsed wooden fence. They took a few minutes to set up some ground rules before starting out for the rest of the day's work. The last thing they did before leaving the empty parking lot was a fifteen-minute leg, back, and arm muscle stretching session led by Drake. All this as he was having a flashback to his army days. These city boys and girls were going on a field trip today, and Drake was expecting them to keep up. At least, they already had a fresh coat of sunscreen on before he joined their group.

The whole island was a beehive of activity that day. Drake and the news crews were able to see and note the work on some of the homes. The Colonials seemed to be focused on the ones that looked like they were not yet occupied by any of the other Colonials. It was not easy going between stops. They had to get off the road every time that they saw a steady stream of what had to be a small handful of brand new Balqon XE20 trucks on the narrow road. They were moving shipping containers from the loading and off-loading dock holding area, and they were noted to be heading towards the airport.

This was the first time that anyone had seen anything like them on the island, or off of them for that matter. If they had asked, they would have found out that those oddly shaped cabs over lithium-ion battery packs had only been on the island for a few days. They had been fitted in whenever one of the cargo ships needed to put a large mass to balance out the cloth their ships carryed. There also were very few of those cargo moving half sized trucks in operation anywhere around the world for now.

One of the times that they were waiting for the whole line of quiet trucks to make their way up and down the road, the BBC news crew was able to interview an odd couple who had been working at the water's edge not far off of the blacktop. They were using a small selection of basic hand tools to repair a wooden hulled boat not that far above the high tide mark. It had been left on the beach when the Colonials bought the islands.

As Ruth had hoped, Drake became the icebreaker for the news crew. Drake had been able to get a dozen eggs, some of which he thought might be fertilized, from the couple for some helping in moving the boat they were working on about twenty feet higher up the beach. All of this exchange was caught on tape. What he told the news crew was that he did not plan on cooking any of those eggs. He had eaten more than his share of eggs that were a little on the pink side in his day. These eggs could be a lot more valuable than to just use for dinner. He had not told them that part. He could only hope that they were valuable, and worldwide news might not be that helpful.

By the end of the afternoon, Drake was pretty tired from all of the working, walking, and the late night he had before. He decided to stop when it started to get cooler. He also wanted to get himself the first hot meal of the day. He was not joined by the trailing news crew at the restaurant. They had broken off from Drake when they passed the building they were using as a base camp. Drake was fine with them leaving him alone. At least now he could walk at a pace and cadence that was more normal for him. He had not said anything, but the news crew had cut his pace almost in half. He could have walked faster by himself through wilderness terrain than he had on the roadside with the reporters following.

Drake made it to the restaurant with a smile on his face and a skip in his steps. When he entered the main seating area, he was a little surprised that both the man and the woman were working at the same time behind the bar top. He was not surprised when it was the woman who pointed over to a chair for him to take. As he had learned last night, her command of English was quite good after only a few hours of practicing with him and the BBC news crew. Drake just smiled and took the indicated seat. It was now time to use another part of his brain to see what he could get at the lowest cost to him.

First Drake made the same deal for the hot meal and drinks he had been looking forward to except with beer rather than moonshine. He ended up using another one of his dwindling supply of candy bars for a meal. He was even given the use of one of the restaurant's operational refrigerators. It was going to hold his dozen eggs and anything else he might need it for. He made a mental note to make sure that he did not go overboard with this privilege. The use of the device was given on the promise of turning over what was going to be left in his six ounce black pepper shaker and any of the other spices he might have left in his other bags. Ones that the woman was sure would have remained in his bags when he left for home again in a few more days. Drake thought he got the better end of the deal. Drake knew that he was getting a good bit of information on the Colonials beside the animals. Finding out the sociology of the Colonials was also important.

He was sitting and enjoying his second cold beer of the night. That was when the news crew that had been following him around all day showed up. They came in with most of the whole BBC crew in tow. It was one massive wave of loud and smiling humanity. They hit the business outer doors like a wave of noise, and every eye in the place turned to see who was disturbing the peace. Drake noticed that the news group was not looked at with favor by the locals. It looked to Drake that everyone was dreading the next few hours. He marked it down as the locals not liking any changes to their environment.

Ruth and Mell were not with them, but the rest of the bunch of newsies were very excited. It would seem that while Drake and his followers were working the leadership of the news group was filming the interview with the commander of the alien fleet. The man who was now thought to be the second in command of all of the Colonials. It seemed that that was not what excited them about the interview though, nor was it the fresh information that came out out during said interview. They were babbling about a nice sized list of items and it was not hard for Drake and most of the locals to pick up most of what the news group were saying.

It seemed that the other academics were able to gatecrash the event and make a huge scene. And it was all caught on high definition tape and hard drives by the news crew. The more that they talked about the events, the more Drake wished he had been there to see it firsthand or at least as a fly on the wall. It would seem that this Admiral Adama had made them look like a huge pack of fools. Enough so that Ruth and the tech team's support unit were making edits still. They would need all the time they could get so that the ship in harbor could take it back to Tahiti. That ship was scheduled to leave in a few hours. By all accounts it was a truly impressive example of foot in mouth disease. Ruth wanted to get the story back to her bosses as soon as she could.

From what Drake had picked up from the loose lipped news crew, Ruth had already let her bosses know about the incident. So they were going to have someone they trusted on the pier when the cargo ship made port again in Tahiti. From there, it was going to be flown out to the main Honolulu office for broadcast to the whole world as fast as humanly possible.

By now Drake had walked over and joined in. When he thought that he had most of the story, he thanked the talkative news team and then went outside of the bar for some fresh air. He took another slug of his beer bottle then pulled out his satellite phone. He looked at the number pad for a few long minutes, and even took another pull of his very good beer and looked at his watch. It was not a scheduled time to contact anyone back home. He quickly worked out what the time was in the area he was about to contact.

Drake made a face that looked like he had bitten into a lemon. "Well, the hell with it," he spoke out loud, but in a low voice. He started to press a long list of numbers in the right order. He was not going to make friends with this call. It was not just because of the time that it was on the receiving end. He was going to be the bearer of bad news again

Drake held the brick sized device with a hot dog antenna to his ear and listened to the ringing tone coming out of the small speaker. It was on its sixth or seventh ring when he had to change ears. It was another set of rings before the person picked up the phone on the other end. Drake had called another Zoo supplied cell phone, and that one did not have voice mail. If no one had picked up then he would have just sent a short text message for his boss to contact him and that it was very important. Drake was just about to disconnect the line when it stopped ringing mid tone.

A tired and angry voice replaced the digital sounding tone. "What! And do you know what time it is?" The satphone did not give anything like a normal number for the caller ID function to work as it was designed to. As far as the person on the other end of the line knew this was someone calling to do a political poll, or an offer to help fix his computer.

Drake was still a little embarrassed about the call. He also was trying not to laugh on the phone about his boss's interrupted sleep. He only stopped when he remembered two things. One, that the person on the other end was his boss. And two, this same person had a lively sense of humor, and he was not afraid to use it to pay someone back. Escalation was a well-used word in his massive vocabulary.

"Yeah, Doctor Owen. Sorry about that. Something came up out here on the islands again. And I think you might want to know about it."

The head of his department at the San Diego Zoo was now fully awake. "Drake? Is everything okay?" Doctor Owen now was concerned despite still being angry for having been woken up after only a handful of hours of sleep.

Drake now had a grin on his face. "Well, I don't know. I just found out that my favorite person led a party crash into the interview with the Colonial military commander. It would seem that they showed their asses a lot. The news team I was just talking to, they seemed to be very happy to have caught it all on tape."

The head of the zoo now was no longer angry about be woken up at oh dark thirty. "Drake tell me everything you know, and what you think you know. Try not to leave anything out."

When Drake gave him a rundown of what he had heard about Ron and his lackeys' shenanigans, his boss was still not happy but he was in a slightly better mood. He was worried that if that bunch of rocks with lips got all the visitors thrown off the island, the Zoo was going to be out a large chunk of money with nothing but a few blood samples the Drake had already collected to show for it. It the blow up was bad enough no one knows how long outsiders might be frozen out of an area by an upset warlord. It had happened a number of times in the recent past, like in certain parts of Africa and Asia. Those were the ones that had popped into Owen's forebrain.

That was when Drake dropped the bombshell about the even dozen eggs he had just collected from seven different breeding groups. Drake's boss dropped the phone, and the boom that transmitted through to Drake hurt his ears. After a few minutes his boss was finally coming back down to earth from the high of the news. Doctor Owen's shriek had even awakened his wife who rolled over and gave him a 'what the hell are you doing' look.

"Okay Drake tell me exactly what you think you have, and how you are storing them?" This statement got his wife's attention also. He gave her little nod and she was getting out of the bed and coming over to his side. After a few seconds, she picked up her own cellphone and started making a few calls to wake people up. The lucky ones were in the same state she was in. Others were more than a few hours off her clock.

Drake explained in as much detail as he could about the eggs and how he was keeping them viable. He quickly covered how he was thinking about getting them off the island. He had to tell his boss three times that he was ninety-five percent sure that the breeding groups the eggs had come from were not contaminated by local animals. This would be the first set of testable DNA from an animal that was or might have been born not only off the planet but out of this solar system. If it turned out that they did hatch the zoo would have one of the rarest, if very common looking, animals on the whole planet. That was the dream of any zoo around the world.

Drake's boss wanted them off the island right then. Not when Drake came back to his part of the world, Dr. Owen wanted them now! ASAP did not come close to how fast he wanted them. Drake also told his boss that he seemed to be making positive progress on making some local friends. He thought that this might protect him from being thrown off the island. That is, if the worst happened to the other academics. This was not a five or even ten minute talk. They ended up being on the phone for over an hour, and they were not done yet. This was going to be an expensive call at just under 2 dollars a minute. Drake was just thankful that he was not going to be the one getting the bill at the end of the month.

Doctor Owen took a deep breath and put his pen down. He had been holding it on a notepad that his wife had passed to him. "Drake, are you sure about that? Some of the locals might like you but if this military commander orders everyone off the island, you know that your little pistol is only going to get you killed." Owen had said commander, but he had thought warlord. "What makes you think that you will not end up with a combat boot up your ass, or upside your head?"

Drake stopped talking and looked around and waited for a small group of locals to finish walking by where he had been standing. They waved and smiled at him before they disappeared into the restaurant. One part of his mind noted that it was looking to be a busy night at the local watering hole. "I don't know. Call it a hunch. It's a lot like that one trip down to the Amazon."

That comment had stopped Drake's boss in mid-thought, and even his wife looked back wide eyed at him. Doctor Owen looked at the cell phone like he was waiting for the golden goose to come flying out of it.

"Okay. I'm not going to secondguess your call. What can I do on this end to help you? Remember Drake, we are on a budget. We cannot start using your stuff and information to get any more funds out of the general fund. At least not on such short notice."

Drake smiled and remembered that his first line superiors had not been in the field in a long time. "Sir, if you can get with Debbi in my old office, ask her to get a Type 2 and a Type 3 care package out to me as fast as you can. That would go a long way in helping me make friends in the right places, without getting me thrown into jail." Drake's mind had been flying and a plan or at least a pair of ideas were coming together.

Owen was surprised at what he had just been asked to do for the man halfway around the world from his bedroom. He had been expecting Drake to give him a number that would be the amount of money to be sent to his bank account. Not sent a couple of preplanned care packages in the mail. He recovered very quickly. "Okay, David. I will take care of that. I need you to get all of your samples safely out of there and keep me in the loop, so that I can make sure they get where they need to go. The last thing I want to happen is for them to get stuck in customs somewhere."

The call ended, and Doctor Owen called his boss, who had not liked getting an early morning call any more than Dr. Owen had. Dr. Owen brought him up to speed and his boss vetoed Owen's current plan for the operation. The boss said that he would have the packages on the way first thing. He would make sure they were going out via express shipping, or he would have someone's head.

* * *

After the phone call was done, Drake did not so much run as walk fast back to his campsite hidden in the clump of trees not that far away. He did a quick check of the area around his camp, and quickly found a note hung on his outer tent entry flap. It was a computer printout, and it was in proper English. It told him that he must use the ocean or use the restaurant facilities, for his human waste needs, not the hole he had dug into the sand unless it was an emergency. Drake folded the note and put it away and went about expanding his check of the local area. Drake kind of felt like someone could enter his bedroom without knocking.

He quickly found three hip height wooden signs posted around the area. They had letters that were in a form of Greek, and they were stating that the area was duly claimed as a residence. He was chuckling to himself, as he found the box that he was looking for in his sleeping area. It was just a flat cardboard box with a few odds and ends still inside. He did some quick measurements with his off hand on it and determined it was just about the size he needed perfectly. He put the few loose items in an extra Ziploc bag and put it away. He then pulled out two chemical cold packs from his duffel bag and activated them. Those went into the cardboard box and the lid went back on. His shipping container was now ready.

Drake did another quick walk in the dark, back the way he had come. He then walked back to the restaurant's back and picked up his eggs. With a borrowed pen, he wrote the name and number of the head of the Tahiti wildlife protection service on the top, and the four other sides of the box. He used part of his limited supply of what was called 5-50 cord on the box next. He was getting a few odd looks from the locals, but nothing was said. At least nothing was said to him.

Next on Drake's list was a fast jog to the pier, leaving the parking lot with his package in one hand and a light in the other. He was thinking that he needed to see about working a trade with the cargo ship. He was wondering what a roll of duct tape or the like might set him back with the traders. He was working up a sweat, and it was looking like his night was not over just yet.

He had to stop at the entry point to the concrete covered dock. A small convoy of four fifteen meter plus long multi axle military looking trucks had the right of way. Even with Drake's military background, he had no idea what the very odd-looking military trucks were. He did notice the very faded Ukrainian flag painted on the driver side doors though. By the time the third truck was about to pass him by, he took a couple of images of what he was now thinking were some kind of command and control vehicles. As soon as the had dust cleared enough to see that there was not another truck working on exiting the pier in the near future, he was waved into the pier by a guard.

The M/V Choctaw County was still at the pier, but even Drake could tell that the ship was going to be leaving very soon. He had been hoping that he had a least an hour. He was able to make it onto the ship without being stopped by any more of the handful of guards walking around the area. He even made it up one of the ship's gang planks, before being stopped. The delay had been pretty short as he talked his way onto the ship to see her master.

Now, talking the ship's captain into taking the package, that was a different matter entirely. He had two problems that he had to deal with all at once. First, he was not going to be able to pay up front to have the package dropped off at another island. The second major issue was that not only was his package listed as a biological hazard, given it contained the blood samples, it also had the chicken eggs. That meant that there were also ecological issues that would have to be dealt with. Either one of those issues were enough to stop most merchant commanders in their tracks about picking up cargo.

It had been just sheer chance that Drake had his satellite phone in his hiking bag when he made the trip down to the pier along with the cardboard box. He pulled it out and called one of the listed numbers printed on the side of box that he had gotten from his boss before flying out. The phone only rang three times before someone on the other end picked up. Drake had to explain to the person on the other end what he was sending over and that the Zoo would be sending someone to pick it up. The captain of the high-speed merchant ship was eavesdropping, thanks to Drake putting the phone on speaker. It was not fast, but it seemed like after about fifteen minutes of talking the person on the other end decided to be very helpful in this endeavor.

That was all it took and the world was looking a little brighter to Drake. That was because unknown to Drake, the Zoo had called while he was taking to the head of the Wildlife Protection units of Tahiti. Even as the head was on the phone, his assistant was passing him a note from the person in charge of all of San Diego Zoo's research departments. The head of the Tahitian agency asked if he could call Drake back.

Drake let him know that he needed to know if the small package was cleared within the hour and that the reason for the short notice was that the ship would be heading his way not soon after that deadline. If there was no one to pick up the package, then the ship's captain was not going to carry it for Drake.

The government appointed head of the Wildlife Protection Unit contacted the attached number on the yellow square. He knew that it was going back to the west coast of the United States. The head of the Wildlife Protection Department was not a simple man. He had a very good idea of the importance of the package, which might be on its way to him soon. He might not know all of the uses that the package might be good for, but it was useful for power. Power. Now that was something the bureaucrat knew about very well.

He had no idea who the man who picked up the phone on the first ring was. Only that he was with the San Diego Zoo, one of the most well-known zoos in the world, working with the USDA and some other agencies in a few different countries. All to get all the paperwork done to get a few bio-samples back to them.

The Zoos and USDA leadership thought that they had a week to get these things done when this mission to send Drake to the Colonial islands was first approved. Now it turns out they had to get it done now, and that would cost something extra and/or special. The cost might be in money, but it would also cost favors of some kind being exchanged. Favors are how the powerful bureaucrats around the world worked, and they paid for things. It had been this way for thousands of years of human civilization. No matter how much the news and press lately wanted to berate it in certain countries that was just how the world works. They might not like it, but it is what it is.

The head of the little island office made sure he brought up to the head of the Zoo that this should have been worked out before now. It was his way of saying that he was willing to work with them, but it was going to cost them. After all, they were now dealing with a shorter deadline than even the American on the other end of the phone had known about. The person on the other end was only at the medium level of management, having been awaken by this boss a little over half an hour ago. To say that he was not at the top of his game was an understatement but that did not mean he was unprepared.

Now the zoo bureaucrat wanted to know the requested compensation. He needed to know what it was going to cost the Zoo. The head of the wildlife protection units was ready for this, and with a sly smile on his face laid out his terms. He did not want to waste this opportunity, but he did not want to overplay his longterm hand for a shortterm gain. At least not again. He asked for a couple of grants to cover the cost to study whales and a few of the local island land animals.

The Zoo could have afforded that, but a counteroffer was made instead, and it was accepted. You never went for the first offer that was put on the table in negotiations. The Zoo bureaucratic had found a middle ground with a six months grant for marine biology given to the wildlife protection unit. After that, it would be up to the local government to fund the grant, which would employ local people to do almost all of the work of the study.

The local bureaucrat now had his chit. He would be able to leverage that new chit to help someone's kid or cause and those people who used or wanted this new chit, now they would owe him. The second part of the chit was that he would be able to connect one of his projects to the San Diego Zoo. He would be able to use that connection as leverage for other projects that he had going on around the island on a shoestring budget.

He was very pleased with himself for his hard day's work. He looked back at the phone and made a slightly sour face. He now thought that he could have pushed for two grants, but that could have backfired on him. It was a bird in hand, versus two birds in the bush. Besides, who knows if something might come out of the grant that he had been given? The Zoo just might pick up the grant for the rest of the year or even for another year if it was a very productive half year. That is, if he did not shear the sheep too closely today. He mentally marked up that the Colonials being in the local area had helped his people again.

The Tahitian bureaucrat redialed the number to the American who had first called him. It was to let him know that he could ship the box of items, and it would be officially in the clear. Drake had to pass the satellite phone to the captain of the ship so that he would be covered from any legal action. He just had to be sure Drake was not playing some kind of game. The merchant captain would not take the word of a stranger. Not on something that by law he could go to jail for. Or more importantly, something that might blow his cover working for the CIA.

After informing the captain that everything was good to go, the government official asked when the ship was planning to tie up at his island. When the call was ended, he went back to sleep in his overstuffed office chair very quickly, happy that he had completed a needed task. He would also be able to use what he had managed to advance his career. He was dreaming of how he was going to advance even further down the road minutes later. President of French Polynesia sounded very good, or maybe even the Ambassador to the UN for this area. It just depended on how many chits he could acquire in a reasonable amount of time.

Drake was walking off the ship as Ruth was speedwalking down the pier to the slightly delayed cargo ship. He waved to the out of breath and sweating woman as she passed by under the pools of light given off by the oddly spaced out streetlamps lining one side of the dock. Drake stopped walking and watched Ruth as she made her way to the cargo ship. He had the fleeting idea to wait for her to return to the dock. Maybe he would be able to get a firsthand account of what had happened between Ron and the Colonials. This lasted for only about half a minute before he decided to call it a night. When he had stopped walking, only for that length of time, the day's stress had caught up with him. It was like being hit by a train of tired.

As Drake walked through the night, and not long after making it to the hardball, he realized that he was happy with himself. His time sensitive specimens were as good as on their way off island. No matter what might happen in the coming days, he would be getting another positive mark on the personnel file that the zoo maintained on him. Even if he was wrong about being safe from the blowback against visiting academics, he had done everything that his boss had asked for, and even a few things that he had not.

Now the zoo would be able to use those same specimens to get more funding, and it would generate a lot of papers that would be published with the zoo's name in the byline. This would also help add to the reputation of the zoo as being the place to be if you were working in cutting edge science in a very long list of fields of study. That information also would be used by other departments all around the zoo. It was a massive feedback loop that he had just primed for its next cycle.

The only person or group not making out on the deal was the cargo ship and her commander. That was not totally true either, and it looked that way only from those people who could see it only from the outside. The CIA always liked to keep tabs on people who might be useful later, or ones that might be bribable in the future. They had additions in both of those columns today, proved by the delivery of a small cardboard package.

The third advantage was that the delay the ship had experienced thanks to the news crew and Drake. This allowed the intelligence collection staff to go over all of those images that they had been able to get of those six MAZ 543 8x8's. The crew knew that they were being outfitted with a mix of long haul sleeper cabs, field kitchens, and even a single command post version thrown into the mix. They had no idea why the Colonials might want them in the first place. They were not going to miss the opportunity to get as much firsthand information on those strange vehicles as they could. That was just as long as they could keep up their cover story. The BBC newswoman asked that the ship be delayed for an hour or two while her people finished up something. That gave the ship's crew long enough to track where those massive and oddly shaped 8 x 8's went to.

The rest of the evening was very quiet on the island. Ruth and her team, as well as Drake, stayed close to their respective sleeping areas for some much needed rest after a day and a very hectic late afternoon and early evening. Drake even went to the length of collecting some dry driftwood and deadfall to make a little campfire close to his sleeping area. It was not much of a fire, but it made him relax, and he was soon asleep. It was just to mesmerizing to watch the flames in his small sand walled fire pit from the sleeping platform that he had built. The sound of waves rushing onto the nearby beach and the flicker of red orange flames were the perfect lullaby for him tonight.


	30. Chapter 30 Boat Issues

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 30: Boat Issues**

Earth still Mid March 2019

Eight hours after departing Colonial territory, the Choctaw County was tied down to one of the smaller piers in the harbor of Pape'ete, Tahiti. The Choctaw was normally the fastest of the three ships making the cargo runs to and from to the Colonials' islands. At least, the small ship was that way when she was empty. Most of the other ships' engineering teams claimed that she used spiked fuel to get some of those reported speeds.

Captain Beattie taken command on this run, the ship's usual captain having come down with a flu before it slipped its lines. He had pushed the ship higher than its listed cruising speed of twenty knots out to a maximum of forty-three knots. At the higher speed, she would have topped out at over forty-seven knots cutting through the small blue waves. It would take, at most, eight hours to make her next port call. That is, if the ship could maintain that high of a speed for long enough. The only one not happy with this pace was the ship's engineer.

Running the engines this hard burned more fuel, but the BBC was going to be paying for the extra fuel cost. Besides, it was always nice to see a ship under your command or under your feet with the bone in her teeth. The cream in the coffee was that someone else was picking up the tab for this high-speed run. When the Captain had notified the Tahiti Harbor Master that they were almost to port and well ahead of schedule, his radio call was met with some skepticism by the officer on duty. They had been told about the late departure by radio text message, and now they were supposed to believe that they were early?

After about the third exchange on the open radio between the two, the Harbor Master accepted the facts. It should have taken longer, but he had received a note that a certain officer was to be notified when this cargo ship made contact. Now things were stating to make a little more sense. The duty officer made a call and told the said interested party that the ship was less than an hour from the harbor mouth.

The Captain was told that he would have a group of people waiting on him to arrive at the pier his ship normally used but that he was to obey the wake limit in the harbor, or he would be fined very heavily. Beattie had to smirk at his navigator before ordering the engine to be throttled down. The ship started to slow down due to friction with the water moving around the twin hulls. It would not take that long to come down from the high speed the ship had been moving to twenty knots. When the ship crossed the harbor mouth, she was down to the required seven knots for traffic within the harbor. With such a cut in speed, it gave the crew the sense that they were just crawling through the water of the harbor. It was like going from the open highway to a school zone.

The Captain was not surprised when he saw the line of trucks and cranes waiting on the shallow water access as soon as they made a turn around an anchored container ship with engine damage. The sight had become almost normal whenever one of the small cargo ships returned from a supply run to the Colonial islands. It was the makeup of the line of vehicles that was different enough to be noticed near the usual trucks and cranes.

The line of transports was so common that most of the local governmental leadership were even talking about extending the light rail system. They wanted to run it from the small but deep part of the harbor all the way out to the shallow part that the small but busy ships used. Until that happened, all of the cargo containers had to be moved the eight kilometers from the main port to this part of the port via trucks. That regular movement had caused more than a few traffic issues with both the locals and the tourists that frequented the island.

As the ship got closer, Beattie did see a few additional details on the odd additions to the line of trucks that stood out. Ones that did not belong on any oceanside pier anywhere in the world. They had the look of not being used for handling even special cargo. They also did not look they were used to handle less bulky cargo and still expensive items. They looked like machines used by political personnel, or The Taxman.

The ship's captain deviated from the usual procedure after putting his field glass down. Normally he would have dropped the large roll on/roll off loading gate first, and then open the side hatch for passenger and very light cargo use. This time he ordered the passenger gangplank to be lowered first, and the larger and slower moving main gate to be secured to the pier afterwards. He was almost 100 percent sure that this act would get most of those odd vehicles off the pier and out of the way. He was not concerned with delaying the cargo. He just did not want people like that looking too closely at him, this ship, and his company.

As soon as the gangplank was down enough, before it fully attached to the pier, two of the three groups waiting on the pier almost came to blows. It was obvious that the fight was about who was going to be the first person up the narrow metal pathway to the small twin hulled cargo ship. In the end, all it took was a well-placed boney elbow. A dark-skinned male in a suit pulled ahead for the last twenty or so steps. That was he needed to make it to the top of the gangplank and into the hatchway above the waterline of the Choctaw County. This was a first for even the well heeled CIA teams to see in a port, and in broad day light no less.

At the top of the gangplank was Beth Angers, who was filling the purser's position on today's supply run. She was waiting and watching the circus act being performed before her eyes, and she had to fight down an amused smile and the urge to shake her head. She was very well trained, and the only look she had on her face was one of boredom. She also made sure that when she went to her mark she faced him in just such a way.

The business suited man that made it to the top first flashed a pair of photo IDs in Beth's face like they were magic wands. She could tell that they identified him to be from the Wildlife Protection Department through the gasping of breath and odd almost French accent. Then after taking a deep breath and getting himself back under control, he politely asked if she had a package for his department from a Mister Drake White. He got the words out of his mouth just as the rest of the suits made it up the gangplank walkway between dock and ship. He shot the losers a look that could have cut glass before turning back to the woman again. When he made eye contact with her, he tried to have a friendly smile plastered on his face. To Beth, it looked like he was trying not to pass gas in front of his mother or something. The slower suits turned and started walking back to the pier.

Beth passed over the cardboard box to the man but she made him sign for it before she would raise her arm and let him take full control of the package. One that she knew held bio-hazardous materials inside. The dress suited man quickly took the box, and almost ran down the metal plank to a waiting car. While he had been talking care of the paperwork, the rest of the suits had already retreated down the gangway to waiting cars.

As the very expensive looking cars peeled out and around, the ship's crew could see government plates clear as day. What the man did not know was that not only did he sign for the box that his boss had directed him to, a pair of high definition hidden cameras had also taken images of him doing it. Along with two copies of the ship's manifest on the old-style paper clipboard. He had broken the law, and now someone had proof of it. All of this evidence was put into the CIA's database that might or might not be used at a later date. It was only a small file that was added today, in a database that was measured in the petabytes by its administrators.

The second group that made it up the ship's gangplank was a pair of locals wearing jeans and button down shirts instead of business suits. This was what mid-level managers on this island would wear versus the hot business suit a political appointee would wear. You know, like the first group of men had on. Even then, they had already been sweating, despite the sun being up for only two hours. Maybe that was why they had been in such a bad mood, and in a hurry to get back to their limousine-like transports from half a dozen different agencies. They needed the massive amount of cool air that could be generated in the enclosed space to live.

The shorter of the two denim clad men asked for the BBC package, and offered his press pass as identification. This also had his name and picture on display on the one-sided ID. Again, a special hand carried package was signed for, this time only in two places instead of the four the business suited person had signed on. One was for the package, and the second was for the amount that would be billed to their parent company later that day. That number would be for the cost of the fuel and pro-rated extra wear and tear on the ship that the high speed run might have caused to the small hull. The number was not even padded that much. There was a reason that some people use the word boat as an acronym. It stood for "BOut. Another. Thousand".

The pair of men smiled back at Beth, waved, and then turned. They started to walk back down the gangplank to the pier at a little faster than ambling pace. They were not moving that fast going back down the gangplank for people who had just received an important package. It was more like they were on what was called island time by the locals. Instead of a high-end luxury car, this pair hopped into a small Toyota Hilux pickup truck that even from a distance had obviously seen a lot of better days. It did have 'PRESS' in large red letters on all of the sides.

All of this activity was completed before the aft loading ramp had finished being lowered to the busy harbor side pier, much less tied to the massive loading dock. The new cargo had only started to be loaded on the to the small cargo ship. Beth had to be back to her normal location and be able to check to make sure nothing unexpected was loaded into the ship. She had to keep her cover, and it would help when she had to do the reports on what would be going to the Colonials on the next supply run that the ship would undertake.

The real workers on the pier just shook their heads as the unwanted distractions finally left the work area. They watched the one set of interlopers with the flashing lights of a government vehicle, and the other moving just a little slower exit the loading dock with a bit of relief. The second vehicle was conspicuous even without the fanfare of the flashing red and blue lights. More than a few members distrusted the press as much as they did the government. With the working pier area now clear of those hazards caused by the interlopers, the refueling and reloading of the high-speed cargo ship could begin again. It was now considered at least safe-ish for the stevedores to do their jobs. There had been many team-leads worried about those interlopers walking into an already dangerous working area.

* * *

The BBC News bureau that the two locals worked for did not have the right equipment to transmit that amount of raw data safely. They were a very small office, the data drive with all of the information on it was just over a terabyte. The whole island had just under two hundred thousand people. Those were the ones who could legally say that they lived on the island full time. The total number of visitors did not matter that much to the workload for the local news station. That did not mean they were not competent at their assigned jobs. It was just that this was a small operation, and they were not used to having any high priority stories.

They could have sent a low detailed and low-resolution video up and out. Something like that would go out via the old satellite truck that the local station kept fully operational. But the head office wanted the more detailed raw data, and they were willing to pay through the nose to get this scoop out to the rest of the world. The local management was not going to argue that all of their people could now charge more than a few overtime hours. Those double pay hours would be picked up by the main office halfway around the world.

With the increase of trade into this region of the world over almost two years, the small Tahiti airport had been steadily undergoing modifications to handle the increase in traffic. It was all to support the still increasing air traffic flowing through the whole region of the planet. It was already the largest and busiest airport in a region about thousands of kilometers across. Some thought that it would soon be as large as the Honolulu airport, and that was not a good thing.

Nowadays there were four wide body jumbo jet flights covering the just over three thousand kilometer one-way trip to the main airport in Hawaii Island per day. The BBC had already sent word to the head of that small affiliate office. The original data tapes would be on the next thing smoking to the nearest main news office. No matter what, that was going to happen or someone senior would be looking for a new job. The BBC main officer wanted the raw data so bad, they were even covering the price of a first-class plane ticket for the only person at the station who had a valid passport. They did not even want to risk the tapes getting lost or damaged by being placed in the luggage area in the bottom of the 747.

It took another six hours after it had left the cargo ship for the video laden hard drive to make the flight to the US state capital of Honolulu. Then it took another hour to get the video and sound on the hard drive looked at by the most experienced tech crew this larger station had. Ruth and her crew had done a good job, but they did not have all of the equipment that a major studio had at its disposal on an average day. So it had to be edited again to better support the story, along with some cleaning up of the soundtracks that were standard practice on a worldwide broadcast. After all no one wanted to hear water dropping in a nearby sink or birds that might be mating in the background while the report was being viewed in colder climates. The removable hard drive even had all of the information and finished data from Ruth's and Mell's first interview with Colonel Charles Bellamy. They had paid through the nose for the data, and they were trying to get every cent out of the data that had been gathered. Every foot of the B-roll was looked at with a fine-tooth comb.

The first story, the one with Charles, was the lead story to be broadcast worldwide. That had already been planned and announced, and it was decided to keep to that. So it was kept as the lead story and played to a worldwide audience. It was the one that the world had been waiting for, for what seemed like months. The BBC's ratings were off the chart for the day and most of the cost of getting the data out was made back through a slight increase in advertisements charged for the few out of contract commercials that were aired during those two stories.

It was just too bad that they could not hold the interview until at least something like sweeps week. The higher management of BBC made the call at the last second to hold the second story for a few hours. They felt that they needed to wait on it, because the lawyers wanted to check the facts. They wanted all of the bases covered before it was released to public. It was rare to sue a major new broadcasting company, but it had happened in the past.

While they waited, the BBC was not sitting on its hands. Teams of reporters were sent out to different assignments, all in support of the second waiting maybe blockbuster of a story. The numbers needed for these assignments far exceeded the available pool of regular BBC employees, so independent teams were hired from a pretty long list of affiliated and previously employed personnel.

Even with these new people brought on to the task, no details of the story had leaked out so far, though it was only a matter of time. And the BBC knew this fact at many levels. They just did not know how short or how long they had before the key details about the interview with the Colonial Navy's senior leader being interrupted. Maybe they were lucky that the two islands were so cut off from the rest of the world.

* * *

While the M/V Choctaw County was unloading its two highly sought-after items, Drake was just getting up out of his sleeping tent. As his eyes opened, it was to a steady beat of rain hitting the top of his easy popup tent. It was a warm rain, as rains go, so Drake took the opportunity to have a cooling and refreshing shower to wash the oil, dust, and sweat from all of the running last night off his skin. Thus, naked but covered by concealing trees, Drake took the first real and unrushed shower he had since leaving his Tahiti hotel days ago.

After making sure he was clean and smelling better, or at least more like a civilized human should, he pulled out his bucket and laid out some plastic to increase the rain catching area of the collapsible canvas bucket. While the bucket was filling up with warmish rainwater, he pulled out all of his dirty clothes. First, he had them hanging off some of the tree limbs to get wet. When he was ready, he started washing then as soon as he had enough water in the bucket for the task. He could have used sea water, but the salt it left in the cloth tended to itch in places he did not want to have itch.

The rain was into its second or third hour when Drake completed his tasks of cleaning himself and two sets of clothes that desperately needed the attention of water and soap. His now clean but wet clothes were hanging from various limbs around his camp in the general direction of the north. They were just waiting for the sun to come out and complete its part of the task. He could have retreated into his dry tent after doing his laundry, but quiet time was always in short supply. Things seemed so normal that he had not even pulled out his pistol while working on his housekeeping. He would not realize that for some hours later. He could not have done that even when he was tracking Jaguars in southern Arizona.

He dug out and put on a pair of board shorts and water shoes. Then he hopped over the sea wall, and he went into the shallow, warm, blue waters of the lagoon. He did not know it, but keeping a low profile today was a good idea on his part. Ruth and her team had used the excuse of the falling rain to keep inside their camp as well. They would be using the free time to recover from the stress of the past evening. A few where having to deal with hangovers from the time they had spent at the restaurant, so they were all for keeping a low profile also.

The two living sites were being watched, but both groups were getting a lower rating as threats than someplace else on the islands. What had been labeled as the academic hut was under close observation. Very close observation. It was armed as well as armored observation. Even Drake had two sets of eyes on him while he was in the water. That was just as a just in case someone else might try something dumb. One of the observers was enjoying the show. He was a very athletic man, after all. The other observer would have preferred to be doing something else. Something like watching paint dry or pulling the hair out of his genitals one hair at a time. Little things like that.

* * *

Charles was both not happy and happy at the same time with what had happened during the interview. He had wanted to throw that pompous frakker and all of his friends into the lagoon. After the Admiral's interview was interrupted, he had wanted to put a steak around each of their necks but Bill Adama had stopped him just as he was getting ready to order something drastic to be done. Bill had a good idea on what to do with that group of frakkers that a few dozen of his people would have volunteered for or would have at least a few suggestions about. Charles had been entertaining a few himself, even before what they did to The Old Man.

The older Adama had told Charles to wait and see what would happen. So instead a message went out into the shadows around the island. The lead for each surveillance team had then sent emails to each of the department heads of the offenders. That information had been given out by Boxey as soon as each of the visitors had set foot on the island. The messages were complaining about the behavior of their people while on their islands. If nothing happened, meaning that their respective bosses did not make nice, like pull the ringleaders off the islands or let them know that they were on very short leashes, then the whole bunch could take a long walk off a short pier. In a manner of speaking. Charles had been a little shocked at the kid gloves the Admiral was using on this group of troublemakers. He was more used to the fire and brimstone.

Charles was also happy today because a new supply ship had made port just before dawn. It was carrying the first heavy earthmoving equipment that the Colonials had been able to get their hands on without resorting to leasing them. Charles had known about the backlog for that type of equipment, on top of the limited number of companies the Colonials would work with. It had caused a fair number of problems that just now seemed to be working out. There were a grand total of a dozen manufactures of what they needed on this whole planet.

The shipping company that had been running the supplies to them had rushed as hard as they could to catch up on the backlog of supplies that waited to be delivered in Tahiti. There was only so much a few small cargo ships could do. Charles had previously briefed his bosses via an email that they were very worried about security.

At first Charles had been directed to try to only get battery or alcohol powered items, but that simply was not possible for these large items about to come off the cargo ship. These were among the few times that made him wish they could use the larger cargo pier so they could use larger and fewer cargo ships for the heavy items. Every time he had thought about doing just that security issues of some kind or another would crop up. His growing staff had eventually learned to make sure not to bring up the subject.

The Colonials had been in contact with the American company called Caterpillar. In fact, they had been one of the first large equipment companies to be contacted. It had not taken the Colonials long to learn that Caterpillar held an average of seventeen percent of this type of equipment stocked worldwide. And they were the only ones willing to work under the conditions the Colonials wanted and would not change. By now the Colonials had been working with them very closely, but on the quiet side. They were refining issues that the Colonials had never thought of. They even had been the first to deliver some large earthmoving equipment to the Colonials. At least, they were large for the islands. None of that kind of equipment had been left on the islands by the previous inhabitants, not even broken hulks.

The huge downside about using this one company was that they had the longest backlog on their order books. It was in the neighborhood of eight to eighteen months longer compared to the other companies. Fortunately they were able to set up contacts with some used, but very well maintained, items that were useful to the Colonials. They were a lot cheaper than buying new equipment, but they still had to burn a type of fossil fuel for power. This was something that very few of the Colonials even knew about, much less knew how to maintain or use. It was the Earthers who came to the rescue again, and they filled in the blanks for the larger group. It had been some time since anyone had thought about how the Lucky Find used to operate, and very little of her cargo had needed to burn hydrocarbons to do useful work. It had not been a good reminder. They had gotten that straightened out not long after the first campers had been to them. The staff for the Colonials and even the Rifters had not seen such items for a few years.

After only about two meetings, it was quickly decided that the Colonials could not send their people to the schools or training courses off the islands. Charles and the Admiral also did not want to allow the large company training teams on the islands. At least not at first. So, they came up with a Plan C that was safe for the Colonials. There was a reason it was called Plan C. It was going to have more downsides, like delays and increased cost just to name a few, compared to Plan A and Plan B.

The first six mixed, medium size, used but well-maintained excavators had been sent to the islands with training manuals on their operation and maintenance. The Earther members of the fleet would be the ones working with the newly arrived equipment at first. It was hoped that this crew would be able to see if they were able connect all the dots to make the machines work right for any reasonable length of time. Those six machines also had come with boxes and boxes of spare parts that the company had surprised the Colonials with on delivery. Those extra items had been sent at no additional cost including shipping fees.

The Caterpillar company headquarters had taken only a third of the total payment at the time of ordering for the new built items. This was seen as a sign of good faith by both the Colonials and Caterpillar. They had also been very happy to offer a unique maintenance plan for the main order, which would be supported by their soon to be expanding Hawaii support center. The one thing they wanted to know was how much they might want the facility to expand in order to support the work on the islands. Land was not cheap in that state, and neither was manpower. Even food was more expensive than in most other places.

Boxey had been able to dig into the computers of the supplying company without breaking a sweat or needing any overtime. He had been able to find out that Caterpillar was hoping to be able to set up the first off planet heavy equipment maintenance support center. The higher management was hoping that it would be on one or maybe even on both planets that the Colonials were trying to build up away from Earth. They had some very big plans on how to market something like that to the rest of the world. They might be the biggest in their field, but they wanted to grow bigger.

Both Bill and Laura liked that idea, even though the company's products were a little higher in price to go along with having longer wait times. The idea of more people and a broader tech base for their people? That was very appealing to the two Colonial leaders on many levels and they wanted to reward Caterpillar for taking such a long view. It was going to be a while, but it now looked like Caterpillar was going to be one of the first companies on this planet to partner with the Colonials on an off-world project.

The law firm working for the Colonials had suggested that a specialized inspection company be contracted when they were fully brought in on the deal. This third party was to go over every inch of the equipment in Tahiti before it was loaded on to the last leg to the islands. If anything did not pass the inspection at that point, then CAT would have to pay to have it fixed before the last installment of the payment on the used or even newly made piece of heavy machinery was given. This would become standard practice for all motorized equipment the Colonials were not familiar with and had bought from a local company. It would add to the cost and it would add long delays for some deliveries, but it would be better than having something broken slip through to be shipped off to another planet.

If that happened and they did not know it, that would be bad. They would be stuck with faulty equipment that was literally light years away from the supplier. This was the first load of heavy equipment to go through all those inspections, and the Spearhead class ship was fully loaded with only those machines and a few other related items. This was not the entire first order, but the second load would not be ready for another four to six months. Each order after that would take four to six shiploads to get out to the Colonials islands on those small ships. It not only was a lot of equipment, it also was heavy as frak.

This load of cargo had challenged the Spearhead class ship. It was small in overall numbers of items, but the weight was impressive with small footprints to spread the weight over. Then again, they had been designed from the start to support moving heavy military equipment. Each of the items was loaded onto its own lowboy trailer for transport off the island. These specialized trailers would have to be returned to Tahiti after their loads had been very carefully removed. How they got off planet was not the manufacturers or the shippers' worry. It was quite a slow loading and offloading of the massive machines on the cargo ships.

The first item to come off the ship, being pulled by one of the electric power tractors and pushed by another one, was the first of what would soon be nine in total D7R2's. She was just a massive twenty-four ton shipped weight class bulldozer, and these machines were not coming in 'dry'. They were coming in ready to work as soon as they had a driver in the seat. The Colonials were lucky for four things in moving the massive earth moving equipment. These were items that had not even been thought of by the planning staff in selecting these islands.

First was that they had good roads to deal with on the island. The second was that those good roads were also very flat roads. The third was that they had very little car or other smaller sized traffic on such wide, nice, and flat roads. The last item was that they did not have to take the heavy beasts very far after getting them off the pier. They only had a few kilometers of road trip to make, mostly going down the road to a large remodeled warehouse in Uturoa.

Even then, anyone who saw the device being carried could hear the twin tractors straining to move the load for four or five minutes before the lowboy passed them. The straining engines could be heard for another four or five minutes after it had passed them by. They could still be heard over the wind and waves of the shore. Overloaded electric drive motors have a very different sound to the human ear. These loads were also draining the service life on the trucks as fast they were draining the batteries.

The final destination was the same warehouse that the Colonials had been using to train their people how to operate and maintain the smaller excavators dropped off a few months ago. It was more of a school than an operations base. The eight 930G Front End loaders that weighed 'only' fourteen tons were faster to unload. At least, compared to the bulldozers. Each could be handled by a single semi-truck puller. All eight were moved in just a little longer amount of time than it would have taken to move two of the more massive D7 bulldozers.

Because of the way the cargo ship had to distribute the mass within its one loading deck, the next in line to be offloaded were the four 772 class dump trucks. Each of these brutes massed forty tons empty and was a single massive chunk of metal and crazy massive rubber tires. These trucks were rated to be capable of supporting up to fifty tons of load on the their rear cargo areas. At least, the Colonials had not asked for the chainmail outer armor for tires. That would have added a few more tons for the ship to balance.

These dump trucks were driven straight off the loading ramp, and onto the road under their own power. The ship's crews had tried to load them stilled tied to the lowboys, but they had proven to need too much headroom in that configuration. They had needed several feet more headroom than the cargo ships could give them if they had stayed on the trailers. The only way to get them to fit was to drive them under their own power. Even then, they had to lower the air pressure in the tires to almost nothing to get them to fit on the loading deck.

The same was done to the four 14M Motor Graders. These twenty-six ton machines were wheel-based also and had no issues getting to the warehouse under their own motivation. That is, except for being just a bit too wide for the road as they went to their new home. The drivers on these machines were neither Colonials nor Rifters so they were treated to a ride in a hovercar going back to the now almost empty cargo ship. The last items to be pulled off the ship were a pair of nine thousand gallon tankers full of fuel. This cargo was to run the machines that had just been offloaded. One would be taken to the warehouse with the heavy equipment. The other one was taken a little farther down the road. The movement of these two trailers were under the control of a pair of Colonial driven power cabs.

* * *

Tupua Bay was just past the massive pier that sat on the nicely dredged out channel to the ocean at Uturoa. The whole port had been built to support that massive pier that used to be the main supply hub for the islands. The Bay was different however. It had an area that a land developer had started to clear of trees and other obstacles just inland of the coast. They had stopped when money went short during the downturn in the worldwide economy. The recent upturn in the world's economy had not trickled out here before the Colonials bought the islands. That had been a stroke that ended up saving the Colonials tens of millions of dollars at least.

It was just a set of dirt roads with switchbacks and some flattened areas running into the massive mountains that formed the backbone of this large island. The highest running road ended at just over a hundred meters above sea level. At least, it had been at that height before the Colonials had bought the island. Nothing much else had been done in this whole area beside some less refined dirt roads and some more areas that had been marked out for future homes and support areas. There even were satellite images that showed the work. It was not being hidden by the new owners.

After a lot of research had gone into the limited files the Rifts Earthers had with them when they were shifted to that cold planet, the mixed group now were confident that the tidal waves that wrecked the Earth back on 21 December 2098 were about sixty meters tall. That one fact was the basis for a long-ranged plan. One that no one knew if it would work or not. It was a very good Plan C or Oh Crap plan. The event had happened after all.

Captain Kelly had been in the briefing and when the young kid said that he and his team were confident they had the correct answer about the massive waves, he had told the group what his father had said about being confident. Kelly had locked eyes with the young man, and he let is voice talk on what was called a deep southern drawl.

"Son, confidence is the art of doing the wrong thing. With gusto."

Admiral Adama agreed. So, he had decreed that any new Colonial built support buildings would be built above the hundred meter line. That line would start at the highest tide line ever recorded at the islands. Also, each of the new buildings would be as self-supporting as it could be. At least, within the limits of the resources this planet could supply. Very little Colonial or Rifter tech would be allowed in their construction. The only exception would be the super concrete.

Cost was not going to be an issue in making those buildings. The idea was that on that day in December, in the far future, there would be as few as possible Colonials on those islands. The contingency was for if something happened on an earlier date than had been planned for. That was the original idea that those buildings were going to be built for. Bill Adama was thinking that the empty building space would be used for something useful as soon as they were built.

They all would be what the people of this blue world would call 'Off the Grid' buildings. They were still bringing in campers to be sent off world, and the homes that were left behind would still be used as housing for the people living at the trading post. But as new buildings were built to support the still growing trading post or those other homes became unusable, the new homes would be built high and very hard. They would be capable of resisting an extreme amount of damage, just in case the worst happened to them and anyone taking shelter in them. This construction would only be done when they had time and the local supplied items, unless ordered by higher authority.

The most promising area, and the first to be 'upgraded', was off Tupua Bay. That was where the second fuel trailer was going to be parked. That was where the work and advanced training on the larger equipment was going to be held. So far, nothing major had been done up that way by the Colonials beyond some plot marking and tests - all with hand tools - and the road being extended by the smaller training equipment.

All of that would start to change as the pre-planned construction started, but the machine operators had to be trained first. The initial training would take weeks, but they had the time for it. Not everyone had a place to stay that was not in a ship orbiting in space. So, the sooner they were trained and the equipment tested, the better it would be for all of the Colonials. For now, it was training and testing time. They were just now about to reach the first steps phase. That was better than a fast crawl, but slower than running phase. When the crew was at the running phase, then they might be shipped off planet to help on the other planets. That was above Charles's pay grade.

The last items to come off the ship were the now common place cargo containers that are like semi-trailers with wheels and bottom frames. These were full of parts, manuals, and tools to support the growing fleet of equipment. After all the ship's load of equipment and supplies had been dropped off, this would be the first time that empty containers would be shipped back on the empty supply ships. The empties were like bottles or aluminum cans. When you turn one in, you get a deposit back, though that was an oversimplification. In reality it was not so much a deposit but a sale for the value of the returned to service cargo container.

When the returned cargo containers were unloaded back in Tahiti, an amount of money would be entered into an account belonging to the Colonial Government. The account had been set up by their law firm some time ago and used very rarely. It had been a surprise for Charles to find out that his command could make a little bit of money on all of those empty containers that were starting to be a problem on his islands. They were taking up a lot of room, and small animals were starting to call the slowly rusting masses home. That was something that he did not want to happen.

The container vans that had been lifted off planet holding the supplies the Colonials needed would never be coming back to this planet, not as they had been. The refined thin metal would be used for other things around the Colonial system, or they would be just used as a cheap way to store items on the planets they were landed on. Charles had even sent a packet of information that showed different ideas on how to use the shipping containers as different types of homes. The ones that were deemed as excess by someone on Laura's staff would just be recycled.

The Spearhead class ship would still be on the light side when it left today but now it would not have to take on so much ballast water to keep it stable on the two hundred and thirty kilometer run across the open ocean back to Tahiti. This change of operation was noted by someone on the ship's crew and passed along to an office in Virginia. The CIA just happened to also be interested in any economic data on any given country and this counted.

* * *

All the way across the planet, another meeting was going on that was connected in some way to the Colonials and their islands. The CIA was having some legal issues again. Having legal issues was not that uncommon for this agency, but this one was still odd in their books. After all, they did try to learn from past mistakes. They were making money on an enterprise under their control and after the whole Iran-Contra issue in the mid 1980's, well, let's just say that it was still too much of an open wound. The leadership of the agency was not going to fall into that trap again. It had taken some time for the issues to slowly build under the watchful eyes of both the low-level legal staff and a mid-level case officer. When it reached a certain point, only then was it passed up the chain. The head of the legal department came up with an idea. One that was... novel.

They had to call a special Congressional meeting to bring up the issues before the press picked up on it somehow. It had taken some doing, and a lot of time with lawyers, but a compromise was made between Congress, Legal and the head of the CIA. The CIA would buy the final few open shares on the three Spearhead class ships they were using. They also would transfer funds to pay off or pay back the DOD for the T-JHSV-9 City of Bismarck and T-JHSV-10 Burlington, both of which were being built or fitted out for the US Sea Lift Command.

The funds from the CIA would be transferred to the DOD and the Congressional oversight committees and both groups worked out the finer points. Those funds would be pumped back into the expeditionary fast transport program. Each ship was just at 180 million each and a 400 million bill would deplete the accounts and then some for now. All this put the US Congress in nominal control of the purse strings and as long as they had control of the money, they were happy.

When the CIA was done using the six to maybe seven new cargo ships, most of them would revert to the ownership of the United States Sea Lift Command. That is, except for the West Pac Express. Her ownership would remain with the CIA front company for some time to come. It should have been a hard sell to make to the panel of politicians but for the second most powerful member of the CIA's oversight committee. She just also happened to be the senior senator from Alabama. That just happened to be where the Austal shipyards were building that class of ships for the US Navy and their Sea Lift Command as fast as they could get the money to buy the steel.

The deal would mean that two more ships would be built by that shipyard. The Sea Lift Command would get up to four more JHSV's after the Puerto Rico and Newport were launched for the cost of two leased craft. And the shipyard would have almost two more years of work, guaranteed, no matter what happened downstream. That would mean a lot of happy and employed voters in that area. Everyone would be happy, even the Colonials. That was because soon, a cargo ship could be making landfall with cargo every eighteen hours, up to six days a week. The Colonials could have two ships land on the same day. It had been noted before that for some reason, the Colonials made sure that one day a week nothing would be delivered. There were many theories about why this was, mostly centered on religion. They were only about half right.

The fourth ship would be turned over from the Sealift Command to the CIA's front company in a few days at an undisclosed port on the Pacific Coast. It would be moving from the fitting out dock and should be on its way to Hawaii in about three to four weeks. It was hoped that it would be soon, but no one in the meetings knew for sure. Most of the time would be spent taking out the US Navy specific equipment and replacing them with items that were more off the shelf. Most of the time would be spent waiting for the replacements to show up to be reinstalled on to the cargo ship. It was not like most of the items were kept on hand, even in a major port.

This bought up two issues with the plan, which the Legal and Operations parts of the CIA wanted to address. One was addressed with an approval of some black DOD funds and points of contact given out. The other issue was floated as an idea on how to put a new piece of hardware on the agency's books. They wanted to have a special ship made and, more importantly, covertly outfitted to help the agency do its job. That was going to go be a long-term idea that would not take to the seas for another four or five years.

Before the meeting had even been kicked up to that level, the case officer had already come up with yet another idea to get even more money into his accounts. The goal was to add some much-needed heavy lift and shallow draft capability to keep the cover story of the CIA front company. An old Landing Ship Tank (LST) from the Philippines was being rented by the front company. The crew of the LST would come from the Philippine Navy, but would all be people who were cleared by or were in good standing with the CIA and their own local intelligence agencies.

That little trick had been the easy part. Only a few phone calls and a few checks cut to the right people had done the job. The ship had been in motion within twenty-four hours of the meeting being adjourned in DC. They just needed a go ahead to launch the final stage and get the ship moving. Most of the operation was working on the beg for forgiveness, then ask for permission principle. It was a fine line to walk, but this time it had seemed to work out in the company's favor.

It would be picking up its first load of supplies form Tahiti in a couple of days, while the fourth ship was still being worked on. The newest addition to the transport fleet would take longer to make each leg of the two hundred and thirty kilometer trip to the Colonial islands. The LST was officially called a Landing Ship Tank. She was not a well-loved ship, and only crews that did not know better or had other options loved them. That did not mean that they were not very useful on certain missions. There was a reason that some of that class of vessel that had been built in the mid 1940's were still in service.

Her main function was that she was designed to land heavy tanks on an enemy beach without needing a pier or crane. The whole bow of the one hundred twenty meter long ship was a massive pair of metal doors and a heavy ramp. The whole ship only needed four feet of water under her aft hull to safely work. She could work even if completely grounded. This one had been modified by its previous owners to have a medium sized helicopter pad built onto the aft deck. On this mission there would not be a helicopter. The common name that the crews called this LST was Large Slow Target, and even fewer people and crew knew her as the LT-507 BRP Benguet.

She was an old boat. One that would now only make the twelve knots she was originally designed for in her dreams. The planners hoped to make two or three supply runs with the craft. All before she had to return to her owners for some long overdue repairs. Those repairs were not going to be paid for by the CIA. They were just leasing the vessel. The idea of moving twenty-one hundred tons of heavy cargo on each of those lifts would clear out a lot of backlog that had built up in many other ports. How much information would they get from these runs? Not much, but it would help keep their cover, and now that funds to run the CIA were being diverted to other agencies in the United States, these funds would be well used. Particularly now that the oversight committee was aware of the issues.

The computer models said five to seven Spearhead class ships would meet the movement needs of the Colonials at the rate they were still ordering items. If this kept up for eighteen months, they were going to have to address the funding issues again as a budget line item. Right now, the plan was that if they had to, they would just move the funds into the general use part of the budget or reduce what they were planning on asking for. The last part was not what anyone wanted to do.

What Sea Lift Command was hoping for was that more surprise funds would be sent their way. They were thinking about a larger fast cargo ship that they had wanted to build for some time. They did not say this to anyone outside of their command. Having the CIA buy four of their ships already, and wanting them to fund some more? That might have been a bit too much to ask.

The senator was hoping for this also, but she was planning a trip in the next few months to some rich Gulf and non-Gulf countries. She was planning on showing off how effective the ships built in her shipyard was on the world stage. This sales pitch had already worked for the UAE, who had signed a two-ship deal not long after the Colonials had showed up. If she could get another few ships ordered, it would keep the shipyard working through another election cycle. Well paid workers would put money in her election campaign and her name in the voter's box.

The betting pool being run in back rooms of the CIA, DIA, ONI, Air Force Intel, and even Army Intel over at the Puzzle Palace were very busy. All of the lines in the betting pools did not lend themselves to have the viewer believing that the current status quo was going to last that long. Things were getting dicey out on the open water, and it looked to be getting worse each week. There had been some key signs that were making people who knew what to look for very nervous.

The price of an AK-47 in Mogadishu had almost doubled in cost for no local reason, and the price seemed to be climbing at an increasing rate. The price of 12.7 x 108mm rounds in Aden, Yemen had also doubled over the last month. Plus, those rounds could not be found at all for sale in Beirut or in the markets of Tripoli. The tank factories of Uralvagonzavod and Omsh had been at maximum production levels for months. The Ukrainian tank plant in Malyshev was now turning out as many updated T64BMs, T80s, and new T84s as fast as they could for anyone who had the money to buy them. It was about even odds whether they were getting close to their money's worth or not out of all three locations. All three had quality issues going back to bad welds on T34s and T76s during the Second World War. Even China's massive 617 Factory was running three shifts a day, making new weapons as fast as they could get the supplies. And all of this did not even count what all of the smaller shops were turning out in update kits for older tanks.

The US Congress had been forced to throw money, over the President's objection, to put the Lima Ohio back into full operations and the rusties back to service. There were even some rumblings of taking the F-22 jigs out of the Arizona desert and putting that expensive airframe back into production. The F-35's were coming off the lines at over a dozen a month in three different countries. The aircraft stored in the deserts around the world were being flown out every day. Chateaudun was almost empty of usable fighters and fighter bombers that had been stored there over the years. The only thing left on that spot of green were hulks and transports.

The Royal Navy was returning to service as many nuclear-powered submarines as they could refuel and re-crew from the ships that had been in storage for decades. There had been great fanfare as HMS Conqueror and two of her sisters were re-launched into the cold gray waters of that island nation. In secret, they had already re-launched two of the Resolution class the week before. The Brits did not have the needed SLBM's to reload into them, but they had did have Tomahawks. Lots of Tomahawks. It had not taken but a few weeks to modify the massive Polaris missiles tubes to handle the smaller but still very deadly weapons. This same type of thing was being done around the world. It was not making the news, but it was happening.

The face of the company was still going to be the Captain of the West Pac Express. He had also been reporting some violations of sea laws to his bosses. These were happening almost on every run that one of his ships were making. Both the Russian and Chinese ships had made some very close approaches to his boats. All of his ships in the area had been the target of many low flybys that they had quit counting or even recording on handheld devices. The ships' commanders had reverted to just writing them down in the ship's logs that they turned in to the Tahiti harbor master's office. The CIA and other groups working in the area had gotten some good images of those events. They even had picked up some good SIGINT from those same craft as they buzzed the ships the first few dozen times. This also was not lost on the Colonials, who were reported to be aware of what was going on outside of their waters.

Captain Beattie was making good inroads to having access to some Colonial made weapons for defense, but it was a wait and see game as to what might happen for now. The top leadership in the CIA were not that happy with the slow progress on that part of the intelligence side of things. They were pushing for more, and that pressing was coming down on them from the national authority level. That was a lot of weight to resist.

* * *

All this was going on while Drake enjoyed a warm rain shower and a good swim in waters that had drawn people for decades to this part of the world to enjoy. There were some parts of the world that were not so gloomy. Those were rare spots, and for once, those were the points making the worldwide news. Some later would point to this as the true start of what might be called the Golden Century.

The stock market was even calming back down to normal levels. One group of stocks had taken a beating, and they showed no signs of recovery anytime soon. Those were all of the major cyber security companies that had been held publicly. Even the valuable metals market evened out over the last few weeks even if they were still lower in certain types of those metals. Also, the number of computer attacks worldwide had been going down very fast after the two Colonial attacks and the threat to do more. When the warning for the third set of attacks was released, it had caused the number to drop like a rock from orbit.

The two groups that the Colonials had attacked had not done all of the cyber-attacks in the world. But now that a second round of attacks had been done and announced, well, let's just say that a lot of people who thought hacking was fun only a few months before were now too busy hiding under beds, much less try turning on their computers. So, the companies that made the software to counter those types of attacks were not in such high demand. And the falling worldwide stock prices was proof of that fact. This was only covered in certain in-depth financial reports and information technology publications.

The rest of the day was quiet on the two Colonial islands. Like the quiet that occurs before the other shoe drops, or the quiet before a massive storm unleashes its pent up energy onto the world of man. Some would call it the soft click that lights the fuse for an Earth shattering kaboom. Most of the world's key power players were holding their breaths. The whole world was, even if they did not know it. The avalanche was ready, it was just waiting for the wayward snow skier to set it off.

When the rain cleared and the sun was setting over the islands, the shadow team leads still had seen no reply to the emails sent twenty-four hours prior. Charles checked one last time with his staff and then sent the word out. He radioed to the guards to hand the note that had been pre-supplied and written in proper English to them on the shift change not long after the event. The note held a long list of names, and the people on that list were to be at the pier at dawn. The people on the list were to have everything they wanted to take home with them at that time. There would be no more warnings.

The note also said that if the listed people were not there at the appointed time one hour after dawn, they were going to be handcuffed and put on the ships with whatever it was they were wearing at the time. The only non-locals not on the list were one Drake White and all of the members of the BBC news crew. The news crew was not scheduled to leave for another forty-eight hours. Drake was scheduled to be on the islands for at least another four days. That is unless he peed in someone's pool and he was fresh out of chlorine in his bags. It had been known to happen on occasion, and eyes would stay on all individuals slated to remain. Members of Charles's staff had enjoyed writing that note, almost as much fun as Charles had reading it.


	31. Chapter 31 Some Payback

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 31: Some Payback**

Earth Late Mar 2019

Ron Ekers Victor answered the door when someone knocked on the cheaply made door with a heavy dose of authority. He almost jumped out of his skin when a black clad soldier armed with an odd-looking battle rifle slung across its chest appeared only six inches away from his face. He was then passed a note out of the dark of night. It was like something out of a nightmare. When Ron tried to close the door on the armed goon's face, he had thought his movement to be lightning quick to the black apparition, but a black gloved hand stopped the door from closing like it was nothing but a feather. The armed person still standing in the open doorway only said one word to the man in the doorway.

"Read!"

The tone and volume of the single spoken word brought everyone in the house to the open door with very wide eyes. Everyone who heard the voice instantly knew that it was a command voice, one that must be obeyed.

Ron had taken three steps back without realizing it and had to retake those steps to retrieve the paper from the black gloved hand. He made a sour face, opened the folded paper and read the message to himself. His eyes got wider and wider as he read the words that had been printed on the oddly cut sheet of paper. One part of his mind was noting were he should have redlined the missive in his hands. The other part of his brain was telling him this was some kind of joke, and he was the punch line.

The guard's hands went to the weapon strapped to his chest with a combat sling in a flash after the note had left his hand. He had seen a lot of combat and more during the Cylon war. Then he received even more experience as onboard security for a ship after leaving The Nebula. He could tell, deep in his guts, that things were about to escalate. He saw a red line that was rising from the lower part of Ron's neck, and quickly going to the top of the frakker's head. That and a few other signs said this overeducated frakker was going to cause trouble for the people who called this island home. He was tempted to shoot him now and avoid any issues that this man was going to start. The only thing that stopped him were his orders not to do anything too rash.

Ron had to fight to keep control of his temper, so he balled up the paper and threw it against the wall to safely vent some spleen. The paper throw was as far he could go because he knew, deep in his brain, that he could not do anything against the armed person at the door. Still, he needed show his authority to everyone who could see. He shot the armed trooper his best 'You should melt into the floor,' gaze. It had worked on students and colleagues alike for decades. Ron felt his anger rise again as the gaze showed no visible effect against his target. Ron had very little use for those that relied on physical force to do anything. To him it was a key sign of low brain power, like those people who watched sports of any kind. They all were simple apes and unworthy of being around real humans like him.

The guard gave the ringleader an evil smile, one that was visible through the open visor of his combat helmet. He saw the gaze coming from the academic and rated it very low in power compared to others that had been used against him in all of his years as a combat trooper or cop. He was really hoping that the frakker would think the Old Man was joking. He was really hoping that he would be the one who got to drag this academic to one of the odd shaped cargo ships. It would be worth missing a hot morning meal and some sleep to have a chance at doing something like that. It was the small things in life, he had found, that made it worth living. With an arrogant smirk on his face he pulled his off hand back from the door.

Ron was upset that a mere myrmidon dared tell him what he would, and more importantly what he would not do. He would not go quietly, but at least now he was successfully able to close the door on the armed person. Ron stormed around the half-lit room while he tried to come up with a plan. He had several goals he had to meet to be what he called successful. Now he wanted to add a new line to that goal list. He wanted to show these refugees a thing or two. He just needed time to work out how he was going to do something like that.

While he was storming around the room, one of the other academics picked up the note and silently read it. With shaking hands and wide eyes, he started passing the note around the room and dark murmurs started to be passed around right behind the rumpled note.

Ron saw this and snatched the paper out of someone's hands without even bothering to see who he had snatched it from. After all, it was not like anyone here was that important. At least, not compared to him. He now waved the paper in the air like a red or bloody shirt. He was going to use it as a prop. He thought it would be a very effective prop.

"Why are you worried about this? This is a bluff. They cannot do this to us, and you all know this. They are playing a game. It is to make us toe their line, like a bunch of undergrads." As he said those words a plan popped into his head as if by magic.

Ron knows that he needs some good high-quality video of his defiance against these brutes. Video that he could show to the rest of the world. Ron spent the next two hours talking the rest of his fellow PhD's into following him and the plan he had come up with. The video would look better to his target audience if he had more of the cannon fodder with him at the time of the recording. They had done something like this before, and so they would do it again.

The other sheep only needed to be shown the light, but not too much light. That might scare a few of the weaker willed ones into obeying the heresy that were the orders they had been given. How dare mere military personnel give him orders, thought Ron as a wolfish smile came to his face. He knew just what buttons to push, now that he had a plan.

With his fellow academics behind him, Ron went to Phase Two of his hastily put together plan. It was a good plan. It was one that he was very proud of on many levels. He was after all, a very smart man. It was with confidence that he stepped out onto the wide wooden wraparound porch. He only stopped for a handful of seconds before he went down the steps and into the night. He was a powerful man on a mission.

Ron was smiling as he finished working out exactly what he was going to say to the BBC news team to get them on his side. He knew some of the key buttons he would need to push in order to get most news teams on his side. No matter what happened while they were filming him, they would be the ones to edit any of the recordings, and not the Colonials. He knew the power of what a good editor could do with enough time, and the raw data of a recording to work with.

Ron had done this dance at least half a dozen times before, so he felt like he knew the right steps that would get the reporters on his side the fastest. Then they would edit whatever needed to be done to match his point of view, no matter what happened. It was just how the game was played. It was all about how to spin the story for the unwashed masses.

The story's narrative had to be simple so as to be understood by the masses easily. It had to be repeated as often as possible so it would sink in to the thickest heads. He was so into planning his next move and how he was going to manage his first press conference when he got back home that he was no longer paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should while he made it down the wood stairs. He had only gone about a dozen steps into the cleared front yard area when a hand reach out and jerked him backwards. That jerk was so hard, that he landed on his fourth point of contact in the wet mud with a nice splat of moving water and thickened dirt mixed with it. It took a few seconds before his mind caught up to what had happened to him.

Ron was completely taken by surprise at his end state, and it took a while to get over the fall into the warm mud. He looked up from the soft mud, and into what he thought was an Asian looking woman's face. She was dressed head to foot in the same kind of black body armor that he knew the local military liked to wear near the only operational dock on the island. One part of his mind noted that it was the same type of body armor the note bearer had worn a few hours ago. It was just a lot smaller to fit her smaller frame.

She was actually taller than Ron, though leaner. In his mind, quite sharp most of the time even when he was surprised, he was running some numbers. And they said that she should not have been able to do that to a man of his size. Then again, he had not been in a physical fight since middle school. So maybe his math was a little off. He had no idea about combat training or even the basics of hand to hand combat training aside from what he had seen on TV or otherwise what had come out of Hollywood.

* * *

Debbie was Number Eight Cylon, captured when the Rifters and Colonials had launched their joint counterattack on New Caprica and rolled through her regiment's defensive lines like they were not even there. She had given up when her rifle had cycled empty and the oddly armored soldiers had almost made it to her position. She had been smart and quick enough to throw the useless weapon out of her fighting position and hold up her by then empty hands. She had seen this done half a hundred times by the humans and realized at the time that it was her turn to wonder if her surrender was going to be accepted or if she was going to be gunned down where she stood.

She had gradually come to the conclusion after her capture that the Cylon way was wrong and eventually joined the Earthers. Trying to wipe out the human race had been wrong. War was not wrong, but genocide was. She had been the XO or second in command of a Cylon Regiment before the new war had started, and she had hated the job from day one. She liked fighting but hated being in command of a fighting unit. It just was a low satisfaction job to her. That did mean that she had a lot of information about how the Cylon ground forces worked, were equipped, and why to a point. After leaving the Nebula, she had, slowly at first, given this information up to her captors. Then, once she felt that she was sufficiently trusted by the humans, she just told them everything she knew.

When she was finally allowed to join the rest of the humans in their freedom, she had looked for a job. She had wanted one that she both would enjoy doing and was qualified to do. She had wanted something that hopefully she could get without a lot of retraining. She became a special tactics team member, and she loved it. She quickly developed a reputation for being a hard worker, and for not wanting to be promoted out of the door kicking role. She had found her true calling, and that was all she wanted to do. That might change later, but for right now she loved her work and she had no problems handling humans or Cylons. They both normally became very cooperative around her. It was usually after a good butt stroke to the face, but they would cooperate in the end. Okay so she might have some impulse or anger issues, but she got the job done.

She had been on the night shift guard duty after the current crop of fools had decided to be little frakkers to the Admiral. When she had heard about what had happened to the Admiral, she was firmly in the camp advocating for tossing them in the lagoon and making them swim home. She had not only come to respect the human commander, but to a point she loved him for everything that he had done. She took the insult to her commander personally. And she was not known for having much in the way of turning the other cheek in her personality, even now after all of these years living with humans in close quarters.

When she had taken over the night shift guards, which she had to be the team leader of at least twice per week, her alternate had been almost bubbling about how his shift had ended. Her black eyebrows had risen almost to her hair line when she was told that the final note had been delivered. She had a slight smile on her face when she was told that the ringleader had been almost angry enough to do something dumb. The old shift leader was planning on staying in hiding along the edge of woods with her. He even lasted for over two hours before heading back to eat and get a few hours of sleep. Debbie had not said a word besides what was required by military regulations the whole time.

Debbie smiled broadly now that she was alone in the late-night air. She had a feeling that the lead academic was not done making a fool of himself yet. So she took her time and made sure that she could see both exits of the building from her vantage point. With it being dark, she did not have to be in the wood line. She was leaning against the wooden deck in the dark, waiting. When the front door opened, it was not opening like someone was sneaking out into the night. It was more like someone making a statement to a needed supporting cast in the room behind them.

The man was almost storming down the stairs. He had sounded like a bag of falling metal to the Cylon's ears. Something was either distracting him, or he just did not care what was going on around him in the dark night. She made a mental note that his situational awareness sucked. When he finished the last step he was angling for the main island road at the end of the driveway. Now she knew that he had no idea of what was going on, and she was not about to let him leave. More to the point, she was not going to let him leave, just yet. She was going to help but not be too helpful. The help she as about to provide was in obeying the note he had been given.

Debbie fell into step behind the man, and when it was clear he was heading for the road, she reached out and took a tight grip on the academic's shoulder. She pulled him backwards with a single hard tug of the fabric. She had not put all of her strength into the jerk of the cloth, but the overpaid schoolteacher came off his feet just the same. He had landed butt first into the sloppy mud of a nearby puddle. She would never admit that she had been waiting for the man to pass that point, so that she could use that sloppy mud puddle.

A stunned professor was looking wide eyed back up at her from his seated position in the wet mud. Debbie could not only speak fairly good American English, she could read and write it perfectly as well. She could also speak two other languages on this planet near perfectly. This was mostly thanks to her being part computer. Most thought she might have a programming glitch for picking up English so fast. This time she made use of her language skills to not show off, but to be a little more intimidating with the man at her feet.

Ron was looking up at the strange and armed woman, but he could not talk. He was only gasping for air like a fish freshly pulled out of life giving water. The black clad woman pointed toward the dark house and said one word in very heavily accented and very sexy sounding English. "Grounded."

He could not place where he had heard that accent but it was familiar, and she was wagging her finger at him like he was some errant schoolboy caught sneaking an extra gelato. Ron was still not all together when he tried to stand up. He ended up face down in the warm but quickly cooling mud again. He was able to get to his feet on the second try, but now he was thickly covered front and back in dripping wet mud that had been made by today's rain. Ron had no idea what to do, so he tried to pull off a dignified retreat from the heavily armed madwoman. He had totally failed in that mission.

Debbie let out a loud laugh at the man's back. She had only been able to hold it back so long with a lot of effort. She watched the mud and water-soaked man trying to use his hands to clean off the worst of the mud from his clothes. What he ended up doing was just spread it around to cover any spot that might have been missed by his twin falls.

Ron heard the woman laughing behind him as the door closed. His blood pressure started to climb again as the door clicked closed. That was not fair! How could they think that they would get away with this? He had friends in high places, the number of which just happened to match the number of his friends with deep pockets. He was going to make these people pay. He just needed to figure out how to do it. His mind had already marked his original plan as not workable. Not with an armed crazy woman outside of the building.

The rest of the evening was quiet at the dark academics' villa. Charles had at first thought to notify Drake and the BBC crews, but had changed his mind at the last minute. What had happened with the other group of Earthborn was none of their concern. This was an internal action, and if those groups found out later, then so be it. They would not be notified before the action that might or might not happen in a few hours.

What all of the groups on the island did not know was that the recording of the second interview was going to be played at prime time, the 5 P.M. news timeslot in London. The first interview had been released for the noon news cycle. The notice posted hours before the second interview was to air hinted that something had happened that could affect the people of Earth. This was enough to drive the viewership through the roof, and a few side deals had been made by the top leadership of BBC. They had the scoop, but they also wanted to reach the most people with a single cycle. At least, after they broke the story first to the world. BBC would keep a close hold on the initial public release of the video, then sell it to other new organizes. This was something that was done normally by the major studios with the largest of stories. This just drove more interest among the news teams from around the world, and this drive leaked to those that were less of the news hounds types.

* * *

Henna Clay hit the pause button on the DVR. She had been in a meeting during the first airing, but had been told about it as soon as it was over. She was reading the transcripts of the news story, but she also wanted to see it with her own eyes. She wanted to see why this was blowing up in the news circles so fast. She had known that there was a BBC news crew on the island, and the first interview was scheduled to play today. There had not been any notes about any issues in her last brief. She was already mentally writing a nasty note to the head of the CIA.

At first the second interview had not covered anything earth-shattering. About the only thing that was learned was that the so called Fleet Commander needed a translator to translate from his native tongue to the English used in the interview. It was at the point where one of the professors barged into the interview room like some kind of mad man that Henna put the transcripts down and focused on the shifting image on the screen. She already knew what was about to happen. Now, she just needed to see it to believe it.

* * *

Ron Ekers Victor started speaking. He was not yelling so much as he was talking very loudly. He had started talking as soon as the dark painted door had swung fully open. "I demand that you give us equal access to space, now!"

The tallest and most heavily built woman that Henna had ever seen looked to be reaching for something in the small of her back. In that instant, Henna knew that she was not just a translator. As she kept watching, a hand signal flashed out from the hard faced man. It was moving almost as fast as the bodyguard's arm had moved at the first sound of the interruption. That hard faced man was the military leader of the aliens and the way he kept his composure was telling. He said a few words in a language that was not closed captioned yet. The tall woman looked at Victor, then back to the Admiral, and then back to the academic. The bodyguard did not look pleased with what had been said to her. Henna made a note to find out what had been said. She had a feeling that she might want to steal it for her own use when the Secret Service agents were being a bit too in the picture for her liking.

Admiral Adama nodded to his translator, who was still sitting with a very still expression on her strong face, and spoke again. It was his translator who spoke into the microphone, but the words were directed to the intruder. "What do you mean?"

Ron Victor had a satisfied smile on his face. He was thinking that he had gotten the drop on the other man, and it was all caught on camera. "I demand that you turn over all the data that you collected to the proper students of the stars. I demand that you turn over your ships to the people of Earth. I also demand you stop slandering AI's. Everyone knows AI's are logical. And logic says wars are useless to an enlightened intelligence." He was on a roll and he was performing like he was on a stage of some kind. And to a point he was on a stage.

Before he could say more, Robin 'Amazon' Ferro held up a hand to stop the waterfall of words coming at her and started speaking in a different language. It was a mix of slang and modern Caprican that she had spent months working on with the two military leaders. Adama had known exactly what the Earthborn Ph D had been saying, and it was a testament to his card playing skills that he had not said one word or showed any outward signs of understanding in any way what the dumb frakker had said to him. He was now glad that he had chosen Amazon to be his translator. She was playing her role to the hilt. Plus, she also just happened to able to stop the frakker in his tracks by her bulk and exaggerated arm movements alone.

Bill let some of his anger show just as Robin finished translating what the intruder had said to him in New Caprican. It was going to be a dance. One that Adama knew how to perform. Adama pulled out a notebook and started to write in it with a rapidly moving hand. While he wrote with one hand, his other hand was conveniently blocking most sight angles to view the octagonal cut page. He would let the camera see a few different facial expressions as he wrote. Only Robin would be able to see the page, so he wrote out his word in English. It was something he wanted her to say exactly as he wrote. He was already planning out the best way to use what the intruder had just given him as a heavy bat. After all, a nail that stands out is just begging for the hammer to fall on it.

Robin read the notes, and she had to bite her lip before she looked up. She was no slouch at the card table herself, but not in this league. She did not know if she was going to be good enough to pull this off. She was now thankful that she had let her hair grow out so that it could be used to cover her face from anyone seeing any slips. That was what she was hoping for, but the only way to find out was to give it the best shot that she could.

"Admiral Adama wants to know why we should just 'give' you anything. He understands you have an impressive wine cellar at your home. One that you're very proud of. He does not have access to wine where they are setting up places to live. So, would you just give it to him or the average homeless person that just happened to come knocking on your door one day?"

Now Robin added her own statement to what her commander had written down. "Nothing in life is free, but death." The tone she used should have taken paint off the hood of a car at fifty paces. It was not full of heat. It was hydrogen ice level of cold.

Ron has a 'hit on the head by a brick' look on his face, but within a few heartbeats he was back on the attack. This had worked before, when someone had dared to not bow down before him. "You're making a straw man argument. Wine and knowledge are two different things. Knowledge is a civil right, wine is not!"

Before Ron could say more, Robin was ready with the second set of words the Admiral had prepared for her to give. She was impressed that her boss had already planned out what the other man might say. "How did you get your knowledge of wine, but by tasting and experiencing it? Now, about giving over our space ships. Would you give a Boeing 777 or another type of jumbo jet to a village in the middle of the jungles of this planet? What would happen to that jet? How would they use it? How would they maintain it? How many of those people would be killed by that action of having that one jet given to them?"

While Robin had been talking, Bill had been writing on a few different pages in his little notebook. He had a good idea where this was going, and he was coming up with counterpoints so quickly he was almost having fun. Almost, but he was still mad at the intrusion. He made a note to have a guard outside any room that he might be in that could be intruded on by the locals. This was worse than when he first had started running from the Cylons. Back then, he had had to make it a priority to have the hatches that lead to the CIC fixed to control the interruptions from a certain group.

Ron waved off the counterpoint with a flourish of his right hand and arm in the air. His nose rose into the air like he had smelled something rotten. "I am not some backwood villager. I have PhD's in almost a dozen different disciplines. I know that I can use those ships for the betterment of all mankind. All I will have to do is rip out any weapons that your kind has put on what should be exploration ships!"

Robin translated and Bill started writing again on a different sheet of paper. Robin marveled at how the Admiral could keep his cool. When he passed a note for her to read and say to the Earthborn, she had to pause. It took some long seconds before she turned to look at the Doctor. She had to fully turn away from both of the news camera team and the intruder to compose herself. When she had her face under control again, she tuned so that she was facing both. She had no idea that some of the news team had seen the smile that had crossed her face before she got it back under control. They could not wait to find out what boom she was about to lower on this overeducated jerk. They were having the times of their lives. It was only because of the long years of training to not allow their actions to interfere with a recording that they kept their cool and their silence.

She had to keep her voice as level and without a hint of any emotion. "So you are smart? And you think that you represent the highly educated population of your world? Fine. How do you explain how to power and make a multi-dimensional rift between two explicit points in space, but at the same time many light years apart? Like say from your ISS to a geo-sync orbit over _Tau Ceti e_. This is normally a trick that our navigators can do in their sleep, much less need a computer to help them. Would you like some paper? He also would like to make this a timed event. Your mind versus the Admiral's. Then we can even test your work as soon as you're finished with it. He wants me to warn you about one little thing. If you're wrong, you may die. He will not kill you, but your wrong answer will get you killed and anyone on the ship with you. He had seen this happen a few times in his life, and he does not particularly want to see it happen again."

Ron was not speaking, so a second male stepped forward to try to buy some time for the ringleader to get his mental feet under him again. "We need your technology to fight climate change! We've seen your zero emissions transports, like the hover car and small space craft. It's the only way to save our planet from the abuses made on it by the military industrial complex."

Robin laughed and laughed. She was laughing so hard that she had to bend over just a little to keep on her feet. She was not faking this, or even exaggerating. She even had a single tear streak down her left cheek. She got herself under control and pulled out a card from her pocket. She did not write anything down, but the tone she used next was cutting.

"The Admiral had a bet with me on how long it would take someone to bring that topic up." She looked at the blue card in her right hand. It was more of a prop than anything else. She was very careful not to let any of the news staff see the side of the card facing her.

"Climate change. We have lived on, or have seen fifteen planets or so, that could or at one time did support human life. We have never seen, on any of them, what your people have written about. It was hard to understand a lot of it, and we do not have anyone trained in this discipline. But when we ran your computer models backwards, to test them and the data, they did not work right. What we have found out, and have seen on a dozen planets is that if it's warmer on a planet with this much free and liquid water, then it will be wetter. Higher heat levels tend to drive more evaporation, and the surface of this planet is 71 percent water. When that evaporated water rises, it cools, and then falls back down as rain or snow. During an ice age or other long duration cooling events, which we have seen, it has shown us that it means less rain and snowfalls each year, because of less evaporation of the free water. Have you ever heated up water and put in sugar or salt? The hotter the water, the more the water will hold in suspension. The same thing holds true for gases."

Ron's second in command had not been expecting to be countered on his facts. He was bewildered and he started talking again. "But you have invested in so much green technologies. You have to know that that excess carbon production will send the environment into a tail spin that will cause mass extinction."

Robin passed along what had been said, dutifully, and passed the reply back to both men. "Maybe, but it is not a steady slide of increased carbon versus temperature rise. When we have time, maybe we can put some brain power on that subject with your people, so that we can find out the answer to this. Now you asked about the transports that we have purchased for our use. We bought those items because we are trying to control our construction logistical problems. We already need so much logistical support for such a small population footprint on our other two planets. We simple do not want to have to import so much and different types of fuels to run the blasted things that we need to rebuild. And oh, by the way, you have missed two things. We have been buying some heavy equipment that burns hydrocarbons. Our various space transports burn and have different exhaust as byproducts of the fuel being burnt than you do. It is just that they are different than what you are used to seeing or can test for. And those hover cars you have seen and are referring to? They are powered by nuclear engines, so that we will have a dozen years use out of them. All without any issue or needing to be refueled."

Robin let an evil grin come to her face when the Admiral pointed to a line he wanted her to say that was out of order from what else he had written. It was something no one had known anything about until today. "In fact, to keep the amount of imported fuel, both from our two islands and off of your planet, as low as possible, we are planning to build a five hundred megawatt per day nuclear fission power plant on this island in the coming years. We think that one plant will meet most of the ordinary energy needs of our people that will call these two islands home for the next two decades. On our other two planets, we have already started construction on our nuclear option on a much larger scale." She did not tell them that these other plants were being mostly set up as breeder reactors to make nuclear weapons on top of supplying power to the growing communities.

Robin was on a roll and kept beating the others with her own windfall of words. "Besides, we do not have drilling rigs or people that know how to use them on our other planets. With that on top of having to explore two whole new planets, we don't even know if we will have petroleum resources outside of this one world. I was told that I can say in this meeting that we are working on a form of biodiesel. It will be made from plant oils, but that is some time away before it is of any use to our people. Our people are mainly looking at just building homes, factories, a steady supply of power, and planting food." She was not going to get into what tylium was, or that it was still in limited supply. She knew, without being told, that this was not the right venue for that discussion.

Ron was back to being at least okay at mentally tracking what was going on, but the last words on the local use of the islands threw him into another mental loop. Now his eyes were almost bulging out of his head, and he mentally tripped over his feet again. He had just been told something that was at war with everything he thought he knew about how the world worked. He was not the quickest at the moment, and he did not have the sharpest of common wits when it came to making comebacks to verbal attacks outside of his main focus. He had assumed that those small space ships burned hydrogen or something along those lines.

"But you have not submitted an environmental impact statement! How do we know what kind of greenhouse gasses your ships are putting out into the atmosphere? How many tons of toxins have you dumped into the atmosphere already?!"

Ron was now sputtering as his first few sentences made it to open air. Spit droplets were visibly flying in the air. When it sunk in about the nuclear power plant, his eyes almost popped out of his head. "You can't build a nuclear power plant! They're dangerous! Civilized people don't build poison factories like that anymore. You have space travel! You have to have something better than using something like that! You will ruin these islands!"

An evil smile crossed Robin's face that she did not bother trying to hide when Adama passed her another note. She had been relaying what the jackass had been saying, more or less. It was close enough that if anyone took the time later to translate what she had said it would be close enough for about ninety percent of the people who took the time to backtrack this conversation. The other ten percent would not be happy with a hundred percent word for word translation of what had been said.

"The Admiral does not understand why you're upset with the nuclear power plants. Before, you were concerned about carbon output. A fission plant puts out none of those types of emissions, so it should be okay. In your book that you helped published a few years ago, you advocated stopping all carbon output and going to more renewable energy. Did you know that stars make more radioactivity every year? You just have to be able to collect it. That, by definition is a renewable resource. We just will be using stardust of a certain type. It is a type of stardust that is being made every day in the megaton loads somewhere around this part of space."

The smile on Robin was sickly sweet. "But your statement brings him back to your first statement about logic. He has been fighting AI's for almost all of his life, so he has had decades of experience with AI's. How much exposure do you have with any real artificial lifeform or artificial intelligence? Oh wait! That's right! You do not have them yet. So how do you know how they will act? You have only had to deal with computers that are programmed by your fellow humans, and then deal with any bugs and the like with their operation systems. Maybe you should take his experience about the real world. And that is not some ivory tower opinion with no basis in real world facts. That is, besides the oxygen you're using to talk about things that you have no experience to base your opinion on in the first place."

Robin waved the little sheet of paper with Colonial writing on both sides of the cut corner document. "That is a direct quote. Myself, I have only have about two years of experience in fighting the Cylons. I can tell you in detail about when I saw those AI's you were talking about drag a bunch of people to the central area of a prison camp and shoot them in the back of their heads. Then those same AI's left the bodies to rot in the middle of the prison camp for humans. They would not even let the other prisoners bury the decomposing bodies. They only relented when it became a health risk that they could recognize. That was almost a week later."

Mell was able to take control of the interview again, and then for the next twenty minutes it went from bad to worse. Every time Ron or one of his people made a statement, one of the Colonials would hammer them flat and make the intruders look both rude and dumb at the same time. Both Mell and Ruth threw their hands up in the air, and it was not just a metaphorical gesture, and just let the train go off of the rails.

All the news crew could do was keep cameras trained at both groups and hope they got good shots of whoever was putting his foot in his mouth at any given time. It was not just missteps. They were putting them in all the way to the hips. It was a war of wits and the Colonials were fighting against unarmed people. If they were going to bring these types of topics up, maybe they should have been experts in those topic presented. Instead they had walked into a prepared ambush.

Thankfully, all of it was caught on tape. Finally Mell asked the intruders to leave the interview room. She had to raise her voice to carry over the intruders, and raise it again to counter their objections to her commands. Ron redirected his anger from the Colonials towards the BBC crew at the interruption. He had been counting on their complicit support to his plans. He was feeling like he was not receiving it. He said a few things that were not nice and then refused to leave. He pointedly said that he would stay until he was ready and only then. Almost every word and image was recorded on camera. Inevitably, Ron stepped over the line and started to berate the younger newswoman in colorful four-letter words.

Right up until then, they did not know how Amazon had earned her name. It was too bad that most of that imagery was lost due to the camera being kicked over by the running academics. She became a one woman wrecking crew. About the only clear sound that was picked up was of a joyful woman's voice as she went about escorting all of the intruders out of the room. The lucky ones left more or less on their own two legs. The interview ended and the TV screen went dark for a second with a loss of data.

* * *

When the image came back on the screen in Henna Clay's office, the prime time anchor for the American Desk was in full frame. He did not look pleased and he moved some loose papers in front of him seemingly at random. He had not reviewed the story before he had first introduced it. Now he was at a loss for words, as were most of his audience. When he looked back into the main camera he was ready again. The anchor was a pro and rebounded with gusto.

"BBC has contacted each of the department heads for each center of higher learning that had a representative during the interview or reported to have been on the island. The San Diego Zoo was the only one to reply with a statement by the time we came on the air today. Their statement was that, 'if one of their people were involved in that display, they will not be working for the Zoo any longer.' Ladies and gentlemen that was a direct quote, and the full statement was posted on their web page just before we came on the air."

BBC did not know this, but the main reason the zoo had been able to take that stance and have it published on time was only thanks to the Mr. White's timely warning. With that heads-up, the Human Resources and the Public Relations departments had time to act and get things worked out half a dozen different ways. They even had time to check with a teacher's union representative off campus, and a dozen lawyers were put on retainer. That was only as a just in case. All of the latter were made to come to a late night meeting that started with non-disclosure paperwork needing to be signed.

With all of this information at their fingertips and enough time to think through a few things, the Board of Trustees were able to come up with a plan before the news hit the streets. They were only waiting to see what the news services were going to run with. They did not want to upset one of the most powerful unions in the state. That might end up being penny wise and pound foolish on their part. That union had been known to be quick to boycott businesses or institutions any time they thought they could get a public relations boon.

The zoo also had to balance its narrative so as not to upset an extraterrestrial power block. A power block that had shown more than a little willingness to use weapons fire to show their displeasure with someone. The zoo had the statement ready to go but were waiting to see what would come of the warning from their man on ground. If things did not break the way that they thought, then the statement might cause them more problems than it fixed. At least that was what the zoo's legal department had said. They had four different statements ready to go, and one pink slip ready if they needed to use it.

When the news broke and they were able see what had caused the warning in the first place, two of the senior trustees almost had to be sedated to keep them from going to the hospital. It would not take long for a copy of the video to be added to the new employee training program. It was titled to the effect of what not to do in a foreign country. When the subject of their man being asked to leave came up in a private meeting, they were very concerned about the science which might be lost. It was as if by magic that all of the heads turned toward one person in the room.

Drake's boss was able tell the group about the list of items that he had already collected. More to the point, he told them that they had been verified to have made it off the island and were safely in transit back to the zoo's main campus. He also had to tell them about the grant deal that he had to make to get the items out of Tahiti on such short notice. The whole board praised him, and Drake, for their quick thinking and action. The whole board coming to agree on anything was a cause for celebration and would be marked on the calendar as a future possible holiday for the zoo. It was that rare of an event.

Both men were now marked by the trustees for some end of year bonuses and possible advancement within the massive employment infrastructure of the well-known zoo. There was a saying at the zoo, you only got promoted if someone died or screwed up. It they did it so badly that they were escorted off the zoo's property, then their stuff was mailed to them... COD if they were lucky.

Henna clicked off the flat screen. She was trying to figure out how to turn this into something she could use to her advantage but it was not coming to her. At least, nothing that was any good. A lot of her core supporters were just like the ringleader of the group that just got lambasted on worldwide TV. She made her decision and dropped the TV remote. It landed on the famous, or infamous, couch in front of her more famous desk. Her communication officer would just tell everyone in the press pool in the morning. This news issue was not a government issue, but an issue best handled by the employers of those people.

With that complete, at least close enough to it for her satisfaction, she went to the next item on her list that needed to get done. One that never seemed to get any shorter no matter how long she worked on it. She knew that she was going to be getting some emails from some of her larger donors in the near future. They would be all about how they needed to add these Colonials to the growing pool of governments working to stop climate change on this planet. She would just have to hold them off for a time to see how the wind was blowing when things settled down. She had not agreed with what the Colonials had said, but she had to admire how one of their leaders had been able to turn the tables on the intruders at a drop of a hat.

She was not liking how more and more these visitors were causing her to react and even change some longstanding public positions she held. All of those changes had cost her both political capital and also points in the political polls. Those polls that were taken about every dozen hours, if not sooner. It had even started to affect the rate of fundraising to feed her family's worldwide charity. That was something she was going to have to spend some to time thinking about. She needed to find ways to reverse that last trend. The bad part was that as she sat in the big chair, she could not come up with anything.

"Maybe I am getting too old to play the game at this level?" Henna made a sour face and tossed that idea into her mental trash can.

* * *

The area that was currently the main loading pier was a little busier than normal today. The twin hulled craft had made port just before local sunrise, just as she was scheduled to. Her arrival was not the only reason for the increased number of people milling around on the now well used pier. The speed of rumor was just as fast for the Colonials. Almost all of them were not really doing anything important this early. All but three of the academics had found their way to the pier on time. They even had all of their bags in hand or sitting off to one side of the pier out of the line of traffic.

That small group of departing passengers had checked in with the ship's captain as soon as the main ramp was lowered. They even got this done before the person who had been acting as the harbormaster let the captain know why. He was not surprised to find out that his ship would be taking some more surprise passengers back with her. Ones that they had not planned on picking up. The last three missing passengers, Ron being one of them, had a faster but more uncomfortable ride to the pier then the early risers had experienced. There were two other groups of early risers who were on the pier despite it not being their normal job. One was a group from the BBC, and the other was a group of Colonials who wanted to see what was going to happen after word had spread about the note being delivered. There was surprisingly very little intercommunication between the two groups. That might have been mostly due to the early hour.

Debbie was supposed to have been off shift for an hour now, but she could not leave the area of the academics' hut. She had reported the others leaving well before the sun was fully up, and that their headcount was short three. The academics did not leave all at once. They were carrying bags and it seemed like some of them had to make two trips to get all of their bags out of the dark, modified home. She also noted that they when they left, it was in ones and twice in pairs. It also seemed like they were sneaking out. All of this information was collected at the command center that was still set up at the old airport.

Without any outside hints, Debbie's built in timer said that it was time. With a flash of one hand to her six fellow guards, they followed her up the wooden stairs in a quick and very quiet movement of legs and arms. The thin and cheap wooden door did not slow down Debbie. Not even a half of a step. She did not bother to kick in the door, much less slow down to try to turn the knob and see if it was unlocked. She was going into this house at the run or double time in military speak.

Debbie, being a Cylon, could time things to the microsecond if she took the time to practice the task a few times. Like say, combat entry of a wood framed house. A skill that required constant training and was put on the training calendar every month. When she rushed forward through the top part of the outside wooden deck, she timed it just so that her armored and padded left shoulder hit the wooden door dead center. She timed it so that her legs were still pushing off the wood planked deck one last time. She made sure to focus the push with every bit of strength her legs, hips and back could give her. It was an impressive amount of strength, skill, and timing.

Ron was using a wet wash cloth to clean the hairy areas of his fat little body near his cot in his living area. His brain had not been able to process the noise of running steps on wood fast enough. He would think about those minutes before the wooden door turned into so much kindling often. He would later claim at many dinner parties that he did not remember hearing anything but a few island birds up this early. He had slept in the old living room of the large home that night in an attempt to intercept anyone who might try to obey the note. As it had worked out, his loud snoring had provided the cover needed for the rest of the people to get out undetected.

He had awoken just before the sun came up. He was still not fully awake when he started cleaning up. He had not even noticed that he was the only person in the room. The only thing he would remember was a small blackish ball shaped blur. It had come through the air where a second before a locked wooden door had been. Ron was mesmerized by the blur, so he did not see the other five black clad and armed troopers come in right behind the first blur through the now opened doorway.

Debbie had hoped that she would be the one to put the zip ties on the ringleader today. It was one of the reasons she had wanted to be in the point position for this operation. It was not going to happen that way, unfortunately. She might have knocked on the door just a little too hard. If she had been a little slower she might have been able to get her wish.

Debbie hit the living room floor and shoulder rolled to bleed off the leftover energy after breaking the door apart. By the time she was able to get back on her feet, even with her Cylon speed, it was still too late. The only person in the room was already thrown to the floor face down. He had been taken care of by the trooper who had delivered the notice of eviction the night before. He had way too big a grin on his face, so Debbie assumed that the man on the floor had been the ringleader. The eviction group had not been expecting armed resistance from these three but they also did not want to risk that something had been missed in the first inspection. There were many ways to make common things hurt the unwary.

As a consolation prize, Debbie was able to take care of the third and last of the academics that had defied the Admiral's order to leave. He got the same treatment as the other two men. That is to say that she put his face to the floor with some force before the zip cuffs went on to his wrist. She was even rewarded by seeing some blood on the floor from her target's nose. With a quick look around the dim room. She noticed that each one had some blood coming from noses or lips. This caused a slight grin to come to her face, which soon was matched by all of her team.

Each of the three men were hogtied before they were taken outside of the house by the eviction team. The three bodies were tossed into the back of a waiting hovercar without a care for the human packages being tossing about. Naked Ron was the first of them to be brought out of the dark house. The other two at least had clothes on when they were thrown on top of Ron like logs for a fire. The shrieking of the three male voices could be heard deep into the tree line that bordered the old property. There were many broad smiles being passed around both on the extraction team, and any of the others that had not been allowed to do that duty.

The driver of the hovercar had been told not to kill them, but also not to take it easy on the living cargo either. With a huge grin on his face, the drive took the long way to the pier and did not make a single soft corner during the whole long trip around the island. He even added more than a few quick swerves along the way.

That was the warning to the BBC support staff to the news crew that something was up. Some would say that it was the screaming from the hover car engines that had alerted them. Others would say it was the screaming coming from the folded down backseat that let them know something was up. Anyone can take their pick, either way worked.

Mell had been outside using the small composting toilet when the banshees went by the base camp for the News crew. She had the most advance notice to have her pants back up when the strange hover car blasted past them doing about 30 or 40kph and zig-zagging across both lanes of the road. It was heading south, down the road that circled the island and acted as the main supply route for the entire operation.

Ruth, Mell, and a second and better equipped film crew were jogging up the road towards the pier about a minute and a half later. Mell and crew were about a hundred feet down the road heading south following the hover car when Ruth had told them to head towards the pier instead. She had no idea what was going on but something in her gut told her that it was going to end closer to the heart of the island than at the lightly populated areas that they were heading towards. So, they were going cross county on the growing number of handmade foot trails with their gear as fast as they could. The smell of a story was in the air and they were like a ground of hunting dogs on the scent. She hoped that the small early riser team was at the pier as she was smacked in the face by a tall fern bush.

Drake was folding up his now dry and very stiff clothes when his wildlife tuned ears picked up the odd noise. It did not take him long to figure out that it was the hovercar heading towards him at a good clip. The sound was both odd and different which in Drake's book meant he should check it out. After all, it was not like he had any appointments waiting for him to attend to just yet. One part of him said that it was going to be worth his time to see what was going on.

Drake had his hiking bag over one shoulder and was at a run on the most direct path to the main road before most of his body knew what was going on. He cleared the trees just before the the speeding blur of the hovercar passed him by like another tree on the side of the road. The feeling that something was up got even stronger. The driver had not even waved at him when he blew by him. Drake went to a faster paced run. He thought the hovercar was heading to the off-loading dock less than a mile away. Soon Drake was running at almost six miles an hour for the rest of the distance he thought he might need to cover. It did not take him long to cover the remaining distance to the pier at the pace he was running. He had covered the distance so quickly he had not gotten into a pattern before he reached the end of the pier.

When the large hovercar, the same one that had carried two full tank crews, came to a sudden stop about midway down the stone topped pier, the driver waved over to a group people who had been waiting just for that moment. A group of six strong people reached in, two at time, to pull the hogtied men out of the back of the hover car. At least they had thin-lipped looks on their faces instead of the broad smiles they wanted.

By the time Drake was able to see what was going on on the pier, he had sweat pouring off of his body in salty streams. He had missed most of the show. All he could see was a naked Ron hogtied and being carried by two people, one female and one male, up the loading ramp of the catamaran hulled ship. One part of his mind noted the white letters that spelled out M/V Spearhead. He walked up to the rest of the scientists that were standing on the pier near the personnel gangplank. When he got closer he made eye contact with one of them, and she started walking toward him. The rest of the bunch seemed to be taking great pains to not look even close to his direction. This set Drake on edge and had his hand resting on the butt of his trusty .45. That was when he noticed one of the BBC crew with a rapid fire camera taking images as fast as the camera could. Things had happened so fast that the camera operator had forgotten to go to the video option.

Drake had no idea what was going on, and he was not too sure he wanted to find out but the scientist in him had to know what had happened to most of the co-workers who had been on the islands with him. When the female academic was close enough to hear him without yelling, he had to ask. He could tell by the way she walked that she knew a lot about what had happened.

"Sam, what is going on?" Drake had to pitch his voice so that it carried without sounding too much on the shrill side. He also did not want his voice to travel too far.

Doctor Samantha Wiggins was still about ten feet away from the other zoologists, but she still did a quick look around before she answered the question. "Drake, we are being sent home today. They didn't give you a notice last night?" She had a confused look on her face as she started working the facts as she knew them. She noticed that he only had what he called his day bag with him. She had known him long enough to know the way he traveled and had a good idea what he was packing. It was not his moving kit.

When Drake shook his head in a negative motion he could see that Sam was a little shocked at his response. Drake also was a little confused. He thought that the Colonials would not react well to what Ron had pulled. He had not thought that they would react this quickly, and that he would have heard nothing about it before now. He felt a cold blast shoot up his spine. He almost missed what Sam said as she continued talking.

"Maybe they couldn't find you in your little hideaway on the beach? I would get my stuff together PDQ and get back here if I were you." She shot a look at the end of the pier. "Drake, these people mean it. And when they say something, it's not like some of those places in Asia where you can talk your way out or pay someone off. I think they read up on old Teddy Roosevelt before they landed on our planet." Sam had a slight smirk on her face at her own joke, but then the smile disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

Sam, who Drake had worked with a few times, started shaking down to her long thin arms. This shaking quickly went to her legs. This was not the woman he remembered working with in Thailand two years ago. Before Drake could say anything, Sam got herself more under control and started talking again but her voice was very shaky.

"Drake, Ron said these people were just like 'them,' like all that we had to work with before. You know, full of hot air and making things up as bluster. All they wanted would be some cash, or for someone with the right connections to get a little boon."

Sam looked up into the still early morning light, and she had a little tear running down her left cheek. "And God help me, I believed him. I don't know why. It just sounded right, I'm so sorry." She started to cry and put her head on the big man's chest. She had an idea of what was most likely waiting for her when she got back to her office.

This was the scene that Mell and the main camera crew ran up to. The three other passengers were already deep in the cargo ship. The last two troopers had simply dropped their naked cargo in the only wet spot on the cargo deck from about knee high. They were just stepping back onto the stone pier from the cargo ship. The news crew therefore had no idea what had happened, and started to ask questions of the gathered groups of people standing around the pier. The locals were happy to talk about it on camera, the academics were not.

Drake got a little tense as the two mad as hell looking troopers walked closer to him. He was surprised that instead of getting his hands cuffed and thrown onto into the ship, the two black armored troopers just smiled and waved at him. They even gave him a pair of little satisfied looking grins as they walked past. It was like they had just won a nice pot from a game of cards. They were very friendly and this fact was not lost on the woman with her head still buried in his chest. She had also tensed up when she saw the approaching troopers out of the corner of her eye. Now Drake knew what had happened at the other building.

 _"So I was right about the locals being willing to work with me and maybe even liking me enough to give me a pass. Or they are just give me more rope to hang myself."_

Mell walked up to the two and only casually looked over her shoulder at the retreating troopers who now had huge grins on their faces. She had even thought that she saw them do a high five out of the corner of her eye when they were out of line of sight of the ship. She made mental notes of everything the locals were doing, how they were acting, and how they were carrying themselves.

She asked the pair that just had come out of an embrace what was going on, and after a brief rundown from both Sam and Drake, she could not hold back a smile at what she heard. Very quickly, she jumped into action. She ordered her film crew to set up at a fixed position off to one side with the little cargo ship centered in the background. While they were setting up, Mell collected those of her crew who had gotten there ahead of them and taken pictures and went looking for someone to talk to.

A small stone walled office building was at the end of the pier. It was acting as some kind of controlling access point to the road system on the island from the pier. It was her first stop on her search around the local area. As it turned out, it was exactly the right place she needed to check in the first place. It was just too bad that it had taken her almost half an hour to make her way to the building in question. She had been methodical and had worked her way from the ship at the end of the pier towards land and she was in heels after all. They were low heels, but they were none the less heels and the run while wearing them had not been pleasant. Ruth was heading back to the home base to get more support.

* * *

Charles was reviewing some paperwork when the door to the small shack opened to the sounds of the outside world. The calls of sea gulls that were horrendous enough to draw eyes. When he looked up from the working metal desk, which he was just borrowing for today, he recognized the BBC reporter right off the bat. He gave a pleasant smile as the door closed behind the woman. He had been reading a brief report on the telecast her company had made a few hours ago to the world. With eye contact made, he walked up to the reporter.

"Miss Kelly, what can I do for you?" He had a good idea what had driven her here, but it always paid to be sure with reporters. So he played it safe, at least for the short term. One part of his brain noticed the perfume she used and the way her hair waved as she moved.

Mell put on a smile that was not entirely fake or just work related and made the most direct route to close the distance to the Colonial officer. She did not want to raise her voice to be heard over the room filled with voices. She wanted facts, not so much drama, and hoped she could get most of the first one and none of the second today.

"Sir, I was told that you're throwing us off the island. Is it true? If so, why?" She was using her reporter's voice

Mell had a small pad of paper in her off hand and she was waving a pen in the other like it was a six foot long steel sword. It was as if she was ready to do battle, and it would be on a battlefield that she was the queen of. It was not an act. She was a true believer of the power of press.

Charles let his smile get a little bigger, and a few straight white teeth were now showing. It even made it to his eyes for the first time in a long while. He was thinking that she would get a kick out of what had happened, but he could not let it show on his face. This time he was not going to have to stretch or even hide the truth of the events she was referring to.

"Yes and no, Miss Kelly. We are evicting only the ones that were rude to our leadership the other day. Each of the offenders were notified, by name, early last night to be here at a certain time so that they could make the ride back to an island that they can catch a flight home from."

Now Charles's smile got evil and a slight chuckle slipped from between his lips. "If they were not here, they would be forced off our island. All but three of them, decided that they would obey that request we passed on to them. The remaining three where... helped, to the boat by our security force a few minutes ago."

Now Charles let his face go like stone. The smile was gone and his eyes grew as cold as the space between the stars. "Your news crew and Mr. White, are I'm sorry to say, the only remainders of the first and second group of natives born to this planet that are being allowed to remain, at this time, on the lands that I command."

Mell was nodding her head and writing like her hand was possessed by a strange demon whose name had been lost to the depths of time. She had started writing on the pad before the Colonial officer had said more than five words. She was glad that her instincts were right, and the local rumors were in some part wrong. She was hoping that her people would not be caught in the blowback from the intruders that they had recorded and then distributed. Then again, they had not asked to publish the incident, and the locals might not have liked the issue being broadcast worldwide. She had known of some countries that would not like dirty laundry like that shown in public.

Mell felt that she needed to address the insult. "Thank you sir, and on behalf of the BBC news company, I am sorry for the way certain members of our group have acted. I hope we did not cause any issues when we released the video of the interview the other day. I would like to ask if you would not mind us filming you answering that question." Mell's mind was racing like a rocket breaking the sound barrier and still getting fuel dumped into her engines.

Charles let a little chuckle slip out. "Miss Kelly, you asked for an interview and my boss made the offer of one when he asked for a certain news story to be released. We knew the rules and what happens in an interview. And yes, I would love to do anther interview with you, under the rules you are used to working with. I have a full plate for most of today, but I have some open time now. Would you like to knock this out now?"

Drake had moved a few steps away from Sam, but not because of anything she had done. It was because her group was filing on and off the ship between offloading trucks. They did not travel very far from the cargo ship, but every time one crossed an imaginary line on the pier, an armed local would look like there were following the evicted personnel. The locals were not being sneaky or sly about the trailing. They wanted the evicted to know they were being watched by people with loaded weapons and sharp eyes.

Drake noticed that most of the evicted were traveling a lot lighter on the way off the island than when they landed. Drake made a mental note to check on their stuff and see what was going to happen to it when Ron and team left the island. There was no telling what had been left behind, but it would belong to someone. The least that he could do would be to pack it up and try to get it off the island and back to them. Even if he might have to send it back COD and in slightly rough condition. He felt that it was the right thing to do, even if they did not deserve it.

When he saw Mell and the Colonial outpost's commander walking together towards the cargo ship, Drake had the fleeting urge to make a break for his campsite. In the end he did not but he still wanted to listen to what might be said for the news crew. He stayed in the background as he both watched and listened to what was going on around him. He was starving for news, and he had not known it until just now.

Mell had an odd lopsided grin on her face. Maybe that was why Drake did not run. She did not have the look of someone that was being thrown off the island. She did not come towards Drake, but she did make eye contact with him when they were closer. Nothing seemed to be stressing her, like say, getting kicked off the island with only the clothes on her back and a good chance of not having a job when she got some place to call home from. She looked like a Cheshire cat that had just eaten a canary.

Drake watched as the pair talked with the filming crew and sound people. The news group was in a small little huddle. After a few seconds the group broke up for a few minutes. This was when Drake found out that there was a last second change. Someone had decided on using a different angle of the cargo ship as a background for Mell, and a back drop of the island for the Colonel's upcoming impromptu interview.

The shooting lasted for about ten minutes and Charles basically repeated word for word what he had said inside the pierside shack half an hour before. After shaking hands with Mell, Ruth, and a few of the other crew, Charles went back to his office with just a little skip in his step. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood after the short interview. The only difference was all of the academics standing on the dock or on the cargo ship's deck. They looked like they had all just lost their favorite pet, and they did not have the skills to go John Wick on someone.

Drake had been moving in and out of the background while the interview was being taped. Now seeing the coast was clear of Colonials, he lazily walked back over to the news crew that was filming background now. They would get a few shots of the people being evicted and a few shots of materials like long steel I-beams and containers full of unknown cargoes coming off the cargo ship. Drake was able to walk up behind Mell without being noticed. He had slipped into scouting mode without noticing it, it was a throwback to his old army days.

"So, Mell, what's going on?" Drake could not keep the concern from coloring his voice. He both wanted to know what was going on, and did not want to know at the same time. He was trying to draw any hint that might fall into the nonverbal category.

Mell could tell that the tall man was nervous, and she thought that she could tell something was wrong with his voice. She did not know him that well but after a few seconds she connected a few dots. He did not know enough about what was going on around him.

"We're okay. They notified everyone that they wanted off the island last night. The outpost's commander said the news crew and you, by name, were all okay to stay. They only had an issue with the group that interrupted the interview I was taking the other day."

Mell let a wry smile come to her face. "Drake, I can tell you one thing. These people mean it when they say something. I can tell you that for free!"

Drake was jumping out of joy on the inside. He kept his face as still as he could as he tried to gather more information. He knew that if something was too good to be true it probably was. He needed to know if this was the case today. He had been fighting with his inside voice about if he had been right or not.

"Are you sure? I don't want a repeat of the Yucatan. That is really high on my 'so do not want to do again' list." Drake felt his lips turn down as his subconscious played out more than a few very bad memories.

Mell chuckled deeply and throatily. A few bits of information suddenly dropped into place. Her rating of one Drake White went up by about a dozen points. "So that was you. No, I don't think they are looking at kidnapping or a bribe or something along those lines from the people that are staying."

She had to put her working face on and get control of the situation. This person might be useful as a good point of contact. She was going to give him some information so that he would owe her a large favor later. She knew that Drake was smart enough to know this without needing to have it pointed out to him. She let the quiet build for almost a full two minutes before she started talking again. It was all part of the show.

"I just think that they don't like rude people. Still, I would be careful who you take to bed while you are here. That is, if I where you. That might set them off. Also, if you don't do something right, you might get more than just the old heave-ho. So, you might want to keep your zipper up for the time being."

The last part was delivered with a full grin on the reporter's face. Drake remembered that he had told her some stories when they spent time together after a few drinks at The Restaurant. It had been mostly about all of the different ways that a person in a new country could screw up and make the local power players, governments, or crime lords mad at him. Both had ended up adding a few things to the list as Mell told him some of hers.

"Mell, I learned my lesson a long time ago about things like that. But thanks for the info." Drake had caught the undertones in what Mell had been saying, and he let a slight grimace cross his face. He had heard her words and it felt like an invisible house had been lifted off of his shoulders. He also understood that he might owe her a favor in the near future. He was okay with that. He did not even realize that his mouth was moving.

"I'm going to go finish my breakfast." He stopped talking and his eyes got a lost look as his mind went into full motion using up all its power.

"You know, Mell. They said that they were refugees. I bet they just jelled together in such a way that they feel like a closeknit family and not sixty to seventy thousand random people that just happened to be living in the same small town."

Drake got the lost look in his eyes. "Hmmm, I got to write that one down and pass it along to someone." He started patting his shirt and cargo pockets. He was feeling around for something to write this thought down with and on.

As he turned to leave, Mell Kelly had one more thing to cover. "Ah Drake? Do you have a sat phone? Ours shorted out the backup battery even before we could pull it out of the bag. With everything else that was going on, we kind of put it on the back burner and then we kind of forgot all about it until last night. I think Ruth would like to call back to the home office some time before we have to pull up stakes." Mell's face turned a little red as she finished. "We only have a small charge on the primary battery and we forgot the recharging cord. They were still trying to figure out what happened when we came running over here."

Drake stopped midstride and turned a little to look over his shoulder back at the reporter. He noticed the flush of her face and his brain worked on this issue. Was this going to be the price of the information she had just given him?

Drake did not pause for more than a heartbeat. "Yes, I have a sat phone, and I think I have some extra time on it. The zoo is covering the bill, so she will have to keep it kind of short. Why don't we meet for dinner at The Restaurant? We could meet up there around dark and she can use it there?" He did not need to say which restaurant he was talking about. Because there was only the one on this spot of green in the wide blue ocean.

Mell smiled, waved offhandedly, and nodded in agreement to the plan he had just came up with. Yelling was bad for her throat, and that was how she made her money. With a final wave goodbye the two separated to go about their long lists of things that still needed to be done today. It was looking like it was going to be a very busy day for a lot of people.

Mell had to get things wrapped up here at the pier first. They were going to try to get some interviews from the people working on the dock and the cargo ship's crew to get some points of view on the recent events. Ruth and Mell also wanted to find out what they knew about the local area. Both women knew that there was no telling where one of those might lead to. What if one of them had been able to get a personal video of the event? That might be a small gold mine in of itself. That way they would not have to fall back on the choppy images the camera man had taken.

Drake also wanted to call his boss. He thought that he needed to let them know about the eviction of most of the Earthborn visiting scientists from the island. He wanted to let them know that he had been spared, singled out by name. He was going to take that as a good sign about his standing with the locals. He also wanted to know if his samples had made it safely off the island after turning them over to the cargo ship's captain. He knew very well that anything could happen to a shipment like that. Lastly, he wanted to know if his resupply packages had been shipped out. He had a feeling that he was going to be going through them faster than he had first thought. He also wanted to find out what was going on in the outside world. He had a feeling that things were shifting. Something was in the wind, and he was not sure that it was his imagination that was getting out of hand.

* * *

Drake quickly walked back to his campsite. He was learning the backwoods paths around the area very quickly. He was taking the shortest and maybe the fastest way back to his camp and it was not the road. He was so into walking and thinking about the mornings events, that he did not even notice his shadow dropping in behind him as he exited the short off-loading pier. He was working out what he was going to say and how he was going to say it to his boss.

He cut cross country with a hard left, and bent his course to one side of the larger building that was The Restaurant. That was going to be a better place to plan, compared to his tent under the trees. At the last minute he changed his mind. He only had his small pack so he could not stop there. This was where he lost his first shadow. She peeled off and took a seat under the front deck. From there she called to the one or two-person detail was watching Drake's campsite on a little hand-held Colonial made transmitter. There were a growing number of local made devices on the island, but most of them were just being tested. She would stay there until either Drake left his campsite or her shift was over. It was not too bad of way to spend her work day.

Drake knew exactly where his satellite phone was among his stuff. He pulled it out and checked the charge on the battery first thing. Seeing that it was almost at full charge, he looked at the time and did some mental math. Again, the timing was not perfect, but that was why his boss got paid the big bucks after all. Today's events were too important not to pass along.

With a smirk on his face, Drake punched in a serious of numbers into the flat panel. When nothing happened, Drake had to laugh at himself. Drake had forgotten to pull out the thick antenna out of the side mounted clip. Now with the phone correctly deployed, Drake had to re-enter the long series of numbers to reach his boss. This time Drake was rewarded with a ringing sound coming through the speaker. Strangely, it only went through one complete ring before being picked up.

Doctor Owen's hand had his cell phone up to eye level before the first ring was done. He had been keeping the phone in his hand and no lower than his breast bone for hours now. He was both hoping for a call and dreading it at the same time. Again, there was not a caller ID on the incoming call. This did not matter and he hit the green connect button with his thumb as fast as he knew it was his phone that was wanting attention.

"For the love of God, Drake you had better be still on that island!" The tone and volume of the statement got him a questioning look from his wife. One that he waved away as he listened to the person on the other end of the device. He knew that he would pay for that wave off later. That was the nature of being married.

Drake had to pull the large cell phone like device from his ear as the volume carried over the distance to his own speaker. "Wow, so I take it you are awake. And yes, I'm still on the island. I can't say that for much longer for most of the people I came here with, though. They will be leaving, some maybe head first. What is going on out in the world? Do I still have a job after this is done?"

Now Doctor Owens had an evil smile that drew a raised eyebrow from his wife. He did not say anything and only put his cell phone on speaker, so that she could hear it directly from the horse's mouth. After a second of thinking he waved her over to sit beside him. That should make up for the first wave off.

"I'm not surprised. The BBC, Fox, AP and half a dozen other news station carried both interviews and kept replaying them. The second one was ugly. If you had not given us a heads up, the zoo would have looked very bad, and I don't know if you'd still have a job when you got back. At least not for long, even if you had not been there. I know it sounded bad when you told me. Let me tell you, it was worse to see it play out on the TV screen. That news crew cut them no slack, near as I can tell. And how that Admiral played them. That was a masterful piece of work."

Both Owen and his wife chuckled as they mentally replayed one of the more vivid news talk shows. "There are going to be a few people and institutions that are going to have a massive amount of rotten eggs on their face. HR has received I think half a dozen inquiries about our involvement when I left work. Some might have been fishing, but a few of the more notable ones thanked us for having such a great staff at our facility. We might even have gotten not a few more donation checks than average this week already. And they might be a little bit larger than average also. Did they throw off the news crew?"

Drake was sitting on his sleeping platform with his jaw swinging in the wind for a few seconds as his mind worked through the words. Then he could not help but chuckle. "No, they were not. I just saw them on the pier they unload all of the cargo ships on. They told me that they had asked and it was pointed out, by name, that I was being allowed to stay and the same goes for them. That crew is top shelf. I don't know if it was a scratch-built team or one that has been together a few years. If you think that was crazy, let me tell you what happened to the ones who were told to leave but did not make it to the dock on time."

Drake spent the next few minutes giving this boss a rundown on what he had both seen and what he had been told about the naked Ron and two others being carried into the slowly emptying cargo ship. He put as much detail into it as he could. He also told them that the BBC's sat phone was not working, and that they wanted to use his for a short call back to their main office. His boss had no issue with the request as long as it was logged and went back to updating his man on the pointy end of the stick.

Drake was happy to find out that his requested packages were all already on their way to Hawaii on a Boeing 747 cargo air freighter, and should be at Tahiti a day or two after that. How long it would take to get to him on the two islands was anyone's guess unfortunately. They would be the first mail delivery, for a localborn, to those islands since they were bought up and placed under new management over a year ago.

Maybe what cheered him up the most was the news about his samples. They were already in Hawaii. As soon as the paperwork was done and they were repacked into proper shipping containers, all of them would be hand carried to the main campus of the zoo back in California. They still had to have a half dozen federal agencies review the samples before they would approve of the shipment. Those samples were going to be the center piece of a whole new department at the zoo. They were still working on the name, but Investigation of Off-World Species was in the lead. The board was hoping that Drake would be able to get more samples to them as soon as he could.

Just before they ended the call, Drake was told that all of his work had been sent from his last assignment to the main office. All of the original data was in storage, but copies had been sent to the usual people. He would have to decide what he wanted to do with that mission when he got back to his normal duties. The zoo would support whatever way he wanted to go with it. As a worst case, all of his hard-won data, which he had collected at the large cat refuge, would be consolidated for others to use. It seemed that he had bigger fish to fry for the time being.

Mell, Ruth and the rest of the news crew were also very happy when they were told that they were not being kicked off the island by its new government. Even if they proved to the rest of the world that the whole news crew had done nothing wrong, it would still have been a red mark on all of their resumes to be expelled from a major global power's territory. They even had a turn of phrase for it in their line of work, persona non grata.

Somehow word quickly spread around the BBC crew that Ruth was going to be making a sat phone call back to the home office. She was going to let them know at the home office that they had all been good boys and girls. She was also going to see about extending the mission on the islands, but they would need a quick resupply sent out to them. There was just too much good stuff going on to go home just yet if they did not have to. She had a good feeling that with all of the goodwill they seemed to have with the locals, they might not have too many issues if her team missed their ride home. She polled the team if anyone wanted to go home and was only mildly surprised that everyone on the team wanted to stay just a little longer.


	32. Chapter 32 settleing in for the long Hau

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 32: Settling In for the long Haul**

Earth late Mar 2019

Charles was still in a pretty good mood about the morning as he sat in his main office later that day. It could have been better, but still the day had more positive marks than negative marks for him. At least, more than before the naked frakker was thrown off his islands. The day still was not quite perfect though, another one of the down marks had just blindsided him. He had been checking the emails on the weapon and ammunition his people had put up for trade. This was something he found himself checking every few hours, it seemed.

This auction lot was for the same type of weapon as the first lot had been. The working idea was to go through each type of weapon they had in stock one at a time. Then they would move to the second type of pistol. After that, they would move up the firepower chain for the stockpiled old style Colonial weapons. Once they got a good idea of what was worth what from these first test sales, his staff would have a better idea of value and demand. They would be able to plan better for when they sent the next request back to New Kobol for what they needed to refill the for sale queue.

The Colonials on the islands would then get a resupply from the stored stocks of those almost useless weapons from the fleet units outside of this system. Charles had already asked for an updated inventory of those obsolete weapons. He had high hopes that they would have a lot more bidders on this lot. What drove this thinking was that after the second hour of the post, they had almost the same number of bids as the first weapon had gotten by the end of the auction. A growth model said that there should be at least double the replies on these items. That had not happened and there had not been any additions to the number of bidders.

That high number had not changed since the first twenty-four hours, and he was a bit disappointed by that fact. He had reviewed all of the submissions for this lot in person. He had even sent back a few of those bids. Those bids had contained items that the Colonials were not interested in, so returning them let the bidders know that they were barking up the wrong tree. Those returns had all come back already with updated bids, and they all were now more in line with what the Colonials needed.

Charles was slowly growing his staff and training them to take over this part of the mission, but he was not yet that comfortable with their level of skill. On top of the training issues, this auction still had two weeks to go before it would close. They still had a lot of work to do, and he hated waiting around for the next shoe to drop down on them from on high. He wanted to find any way that was safe to increase the support that his command could give to the rest of the Colonial people. His only rules were for security and a few other broad outlines. The valuable and precious metals prices were still falling, just not as fast as in the recent past. The Colonial exports were satisfying those limited markets and then some. If the precious metals prices did not stop falling soon, it was going to cause worldwide economic issues on a growing scale. Boxey had already sent him a report based on a news story about certain types of mines starting to close down due to the low metal prices.

He needed to come up with a way to increase the amount and flow of goods that the Colonials were comfortable trading. All without oversaturating the market for those items. It was starting to look like more of a knife edge balancing act than both he and Bill Adama had thought at first or even on their last meeting on the subject. The Admiral had lifted off as soon as the latest cargo had been loaded on to his ship this morning. He had been primarily mandated to collect supplies to help build up this command, and the other three areas that were under construction for the Colonials. The secondary mandate was to protect the Colonials that were local to his area of support. His third mandate was to help raise the level of local tech, but he was to trying to focus on defense and military technologies.

His top priority for shipping off planet was not that much of a surprise. He was now shifting to food imports for the seventy-five thousand people who currently fell under the flag of the Colonial Fleet. The fleet was almost capable enough supplying itself with food, at least until the new off planet farms got fully into production. It was food for the value of something that gave calories to live on. It would not taste that great, and even that taste would get old very fast, but it would keep the Colonials alive for another few years or so until the conventional farms were fully up if they had to. Still, those vats would need some infusion of organic matter for the plants to keep producing at that high of a level of output. Even that could not last for long before it started causing trouble. Humans needed certain vitamins that were hard and slow to grow in any larger volume. At least it was with the set up they had been able to throw together over the last few years of travelling to this part of the galaxy. And it just got old and boring to eat three times a day, seven days a week.

The Colonials had been lucky when they found the Rift Earthers on that cold planet. They had been around long enough to find some of the local items that could fill those needs that the fleet had not been able to find before or had enough of in their cargo holds when the Cylons attacked. The Rifters also were more prepared to set up a colony in the first place. They had been able to grow enough of the specialty items to keep vitamin deficiency at bay for a very long time, but a long time did not mean indefinitely. Not for the now much larger population.

At present, Charles had been able to ship out enough long term storable vitamins to fix that issue. After this week, they would have off planet a month's supply of the full range of vitamins that were sold on this planet. In a few more months, if all of the orders came in, they would have a two-year supply for any emergency, and that was after every ship that remained in the rag tag fleet had its own stockpile set aside. All of those items had already been paid for. Now they were just waiting on the production of the low demand items, and then having them shipped out to the island. The one good thing had been that they were low mass items. They were not cheap, but they did not take that much space on the cargo ships lifting off planet. That could not be said for the next highest requirement that he had to supply to the people living off-planet.

That was from a directive by the President herself in a message sent to him not long after setting up on planet. Charles now had a new, or maybe call it an official, goal. He had to supply, from this planet, two-and-a-quarter kilos of food per day per person that was living offworld. Or about a hundred and twenty-five tons of food per day. His command had not been able to come anywhere close to that number of tons of food so far. That would take over a sixth of the total cargo delivering capability on each of the now almost daily cargo runs to the island. That was just food going off planet. None of the food that was making it off planet could be called fresh by any stretch of the imagination. That was when Bill Adama had stepped in and moved the requirements to his staff, so that they would deal with the Colonial political issue of not having fresh food.

Fresh food just would not stay edible through the now weekly or even twice weekly flights off planet. Fresh food was coming to the island, but it was being used by the people who lived on those two islands. They still were losing about ten percent on average of the fresh food to spoilage even then. Even that was not being wasted by the transplanted human aliens. The spoiled food was still used in the growing number of medium sized gardens starting to pop up around the island. They were cared for by the slowly growing population, even those that had full time work. Everything else food wise was coming into the outpost either frozen, canned, dried or in long term shipping and storage bags of some kind. All that would fall under the definition of not fresh.

Unsurprisingly, the most requested and shipped type of food was different types of meats. Not just any meats would do for the fleet and to be shipped off planet. They wanted red meat, real beef. It could be in any form, as long as it was not chopped up into some kind of form that was not normal for the average consumer to see before it disappeared into their mouths. Hamburgers were popular on the island after the barbecue had introduced them, but they were not something that people off-planet wanted.

The next type of meat on the list was pork. Some of the pork was coming from local animals that had wandered too close to the growing medium sized gardens. The two types of meat not requested off planet was fish, surprisingly followed closely by chicken. Then there was everything else wanted by everyone living off the island and/or the planet. Except they also took money to ship and a lot of space on cargo ships, eating up tons of deck space for so little mass. Charles was thinking about this while he rocked back and forth in his office chair.

Suddenly, Charles felt like he had been hit with a lightning bolt. It was like one of the old stories where the gods stepped in to help a human or the hero had a muse sitting on his shoulders. He quickly stopped rocking and went back to the computer. He started looking around the emails and web pages he had marked as interesting. He quickly found what he wanted, and he felt the corners of his mouth turn down. He took some more time to think and then he sent a blast email to all of the companies not on the banned list.

All of those companies had one thing in common. They had not submitted a bid yet for this lot. The message simply stated that if they planned on making a bid, they needed to contact them on the provided digital address. If no one contacted them in seventy-two hours to tell them that a bid was in the works, then the sale of this lot would move forward at a faster rate. This same information was added to the web site, announcing the item they were currently accepting bids for. When it was all done, Charles plopped back down on his chair and waited to see what would come of his actions. He figured that if things were moving slow, then sometimes a taser would have to be put to some butts. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

If all of the bids were in, then what was to be gained with the delay in closing the current auction? The faster the payment was sent, the faster they could get it off planet. And the faster the next item could be put up on the auction block. Charles sat back and put his fist under his chin, thinking. He was working on possible downsides for what he was now thinking might be a fix to several of his problems that were like a Gordian knot. He was not coming up with much that was even close to being a better idea. At least, from his current point of view. He was sure that a future political armchair commander would say something about it down the road.

He did not move for a solid half hour. Then he went from still to moving at speed in what seemed like a blink of an eye. He went back to the computer and added a preview of the next item on the sales block. He just wanted to see what would happen. He did not put a date for when the auction would start for the new item. He only said that it was going to be the next lot. It was the same weapon type as the other two, so it was not that big of a deal to make the modifications. Now all he had to do was try to work out other ways to get more trade coming. All without dumping more silver, gold, and gems onto the market than he had to. All to meet the needs of his people living off planet.

* * *

Both Drake and the BBC News crews were out walking around and talking to those who were okay with being around them. After word got around among the locals about the video the news crew had released, the latter group became a lot more popular than they had been even the night before. Drake was able to get more blood samples from Colonial kept animals, and he even was able to get a sample that one of the Colonials had made into a small keepsake.

The forty-ish looking man had a thumb thick locket of a hair sample from his beloved daggit that had died when the Cylons attacked. He had snipped the lock of hair off of his died pet during a lull in the Cylon attacks. He had wanted it as a reminder of his past, so he had taken it before fleeing off to one of the few evacuation ships still able to lift off his home planet. Even that little delay had almost cost him his life. The remote space port had been hit again by the Cylons while his craft was still in the process of lifting off the surface.

When he found out what Drake was doing with the blood samples from his hen house, he had offered an image of his doglike animal, and half of the lock of hair that had been wrapped up in a metal locket. But only at a price. Nothing was free in this world. The price for this sample had been a hot dinner, and maybe help getting another pet from this blue planet. He wanted one like his lost family member. He had not had much luck catching one of the wild canines and in truth, they were a bit on the ugly side for his taste to have as an addition to his now much smaller family.

Drake had been working under the assumption that a daggit was from the canine family or something close to it, but that family was broad, and his new friend did not want to talk about the history of daggits for much longer. The trade was not that much of a risk for Drake. Even if the hairs turned out to human, it still would have a high value back at the zoo, just for a different department.

The human evolution team would have a cow at the thought of a sample from a non-Earthborn person. He was betting that the head of the Anthropology Department would give up her firstborn for a new DNA sample. Then, after a second thought that had Drake stopping himself from making any movements for a long second, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a little green notepad. With a few quick movements he wrote something down.

The notepad was one he had gotten from a US Army store a few years back. It was almost waterproof, even without needing a zip lock bag to keep it dry. There were few things worse than trying to read your notes after they had bled all over the pages during a rainstorm. He needed to ask his boss if maybe they wanted him to try to get hair samples from some of the Colonials. That is, if he could, and if the Colonials agreed to let him do the cutting. He would have to see about how to get those samples off of the islands afterwards. This was new to him. After all, who wanted to export and then import human hair? That was just a little out of his experience base.

Drake was a good distance away from his camp for today's walk and sample collection. He had a lot of energy after what had happened on the dock this morning. As far as he could tell, most of the population was still centered on the northern point of the main island. He had not been keeping track of the time until he noticed that he was completely under the shadow of the trees lining the roadway he was walking on.

The sun was already behind the long spine of rock that made up the center of the island. Drake had to move at a fast walk to make it to the meeting with Mell and Ruth and still even be close to being on time. He was just passing the unused large pier when he fell into the rhythm of the run. This let his mind disconnect from his body as he did a fast jog down the blacktopped road. He was not as young as he used to be, but he still had a very good pace as he went into the zone.

Before he knew it, Drake was almost at the road access trail to his camp site, just off the main road. That was when one part of his mind told him that he needed to stop jogging. Something that had been nagging at him before suddenly made sense. Even with two islands at their disposal, why were the Colonials not spread out more across the available free space? He worked out that after so many years living under each other's feet, perhaps the survivors no longer felt right to have too much space separating them from each of other.

It was the opposite of being agoraphobic, but it was on a whole social group scale rather than just at the individual level. Drake pulled out the notepad again and wrote this thought down. He was thinking about passing them along tonight when he called in for the next scheduled conversation with his boss. After putting the pad away he almost jogged the rest of the way to his camp site.

He checked out his camping area before he did anything. It did not take him long to find a camping chemical toilet set off to one side of his tree covered sleeping area. It was one that he had not brought out with him into this clump of trees, so one of the locals must have been by to drop it off for him to use. He had no idea if it was also to show him that they were still watching him or not. He knew that sometimes simple seeming things were not so simple.

After a few seconds of thinking about the new addition to his camp, he just shrugged. He had even used this model before. They were commonplace in Alaska and in a few of the other harder to reach national parks in the US. He finished his walk around his little camp, and the only sign he had visitors was a few foot prints in the soft sand, and the chemical toilet. Drake had to admit that he was a little creeped out by this.

With his inspection of the local area complete, he emptied out his hiking pack on the wood and vine platform he had built to put his tent and sleeping bag on. Now it was being used for an additional purpose. This dumping of his pack was a habit he picked up after finding a nest of scorpions complete with about forty little ones on one trip. It had not been fun explain to the customs guy at the airport. It had not helped that Drake had not been the one who had found them together. Some people do not respond that well to a surprise of that kind, much less something like that in a very public and highly populated area. That was a two for one that could mean strike three.

He repacked the smaller bag, and then pulled out one of the larger bags from inside his tent. He had all of his other samples in the small bag but he had to check out the shrinking supply of trade items. He wanted to save the few chocolate bars that he had left so he pulled out the pepper shaker. He would be giving half or around three ounces of the spice to its new owner tonight at The Restaurant. He also pulled out a pair of coins. One was a solid ounce of silver coin made in Canada, and the other one was a US silver dollar minted in 1922 that had seen better days.

The latter coin was not a full ounce of silver, but he had found that a lot of people liked this type of coin over the solid silver ones. He was hoping that the two coins would pay for his meal tonight. He really did not want to have to start fishing for all of his food if he did not have to. He did not mind fishing for his food. He had done it more than a few times before. It was just that he had not gotten used to the odd taste that wild caught saltwater fish had compared to the freshwater types he had grown up eating.

Besides, he had enough packaged field food to last, even if that kind of stuff got old quickly. Especially when real food could be smelled being cooked only a few hundred meters away from camp. He had already learned that the quality of food was right up with any place near his apartment. That just did not happen often when he was out in the field. He put the rest of the items away and checked the charge on his sat phone before cutting cross country towards the smell of cooking food. His nose was pointing toward the food, but his mind? It was saying that very good and nice cold beer was in that direction.

When Drake walked into the place, he quickly noticed that it was already full of people. The vibe that was coming from place was more upbeat than it had ever been at any other time he had stopped by. Drake had been in the place a few times, and he had spent a lot of time here after setting up his little camp. He had an idea of why there had been such a change but he was a bit biased on the subject. Sometimes, change was a bad thing.

Ruth and her whole team were in a kind of group at one end of the open eating area. Rather than join them Drake went to his favorite area so that he could barter for his meal. Drake was just sitting down at the long bar when music started blaring out of the built in wall and ceiling speakers. The moving sound waves caused a little burst of dust to fly off of the screens that covered the speakers around the room. The sound engineers had been able to repair a short-wave radio that had been left behind and then had worked some wiring magic on the cabling left to connect the speakers. Now it would be pumping music or news into the building as long as power was flowing to the shortwave radio. The jury was still out if that was going to be a good thing or not.

Drake took his backpack off and put it on one of the empty high stools beside him. He made eye contact with the bartender once he was settled in. When she came over he pulled out two items. Both were rectangle shaped, though one was a lot smaller than the other. He started negotiating only after paying off his original debt to the woman. As the older woman let an evil smile cross her face, they went to work on a new deal. Drake felt a chill go down his spine. Now he knew how a sheep might feel just before it lost his wool.

The offer of half the pepper was accepted, and in return he could have part of a shelf in the refrigerator as long he wanted without any additional payment. But the deal was only good if whatever he stored there did not risk the food around it. The older lady had not even tried to raise the price on Drake for his food. The price for his normal meal was one ounce of silver, just like he had seen being charged a few times before to other non-locals. The meal was normally large enough that Drake could take a few items with him for the next morning even if he stuck only to things that did not need to be chilled overnight. She upgraded this meal with all of the fresh bread he could eat. Fresh bread was something that was very rare on the islands, and added up to six cold beers for the over ninety-year-old coin.

That was not a bad price for a very first-class meal. Drake had bought the pair coins for a total of forty-five dollars in a local pawnshop back home. He had been using that one shop to buy those types of coins for years now. The bar owner was betting that she could get a nice markup when that coin is sent to an off planet collector.

When Ruth came up to him just as he was digging into a perfect eighteen-ounce thick cut steak, he just passed the phone to her, not wanting have to stop eating his own meal. He did not like to waste food that had been prepared by a good cook. Not while it was still hot. There were only a few different types of satellite phones, and all were generally used the same way. He doubted that she would need any instruction on how to use the blasted thing. He did not even notice the juices starting to run down his chin as his teeth masticated the pinkish-red meat.

* * *

Ruth was sitting, talking, and eating a great meal with the rest of the news crew on a group of tables that had been pushed together for them to use. This was the first time that the whole news team could or did take some time off together and she decided that it was the perfect time to have a little team building party. Still, it had been like herding cats to get them all to this place. When the same people worked all day and slept in the same close area, a lot of them wanted to take the time to put a little space between themselves and the rest of the group. Then again, Ruth was the boss. She applied the golden rule, but only twice. She has the gold, therefore she makes the rules. Besides, they had a good day and their spirits were high.

When they had found an open area big enough for all of them to sit at least close together, they had broken back up into smaller groups. One of the sound technicians had to find a restroom or water closet before the eating and drinking fully started. When he returned to the area now claimed by the news crew, he told them that he had found a short-wave set sitting on the floor and that he wanted to bring it back to the table but did not know if he could. The mental images of a naked, hogtied man being carried on to a soon to be leaving cargo ship were still too fresh in their minds. No one wanted to break one of the local rules, or even slightly bend them just yet.

This group of sound guys just could not stand seeing a broken radio though, so they went to work on fixing it. They asked permission from one of the restaurant staff, and it was given to them with a simple indifferent shrug. They never even thought to see if the owners wanted it fixed or not as a backup plan. The group of sound people had not brought any proper tools with them but that only slowed them down a little. They just pulled out their multitools and the briefcase sized radio went under surgery while still on the dining table.

Ruth did not stop them in their endeavor. She thought that it was a good distraction for everyone as the cold beers started to flow. Ruth and Mell kept looking for Drake to show up as the group worked, talked, ate and drank but he still was not there when the radio was pronounced fixed through only slightly slurred lips. Two of the more dedicated sound people were still attaching the newly repaired device to the built-in sound system and power supply when Ruth saw Drake enter the eating area.

Mell was about to walk over but Ruth reached out her hand to stop her. Mell looked down at the hand on her arm with a puzzled look on her face. "I was just going to get the phone?" She started looking around to see what she might have missed.

Ruth patted the younger woman's arm and had a funny look on her face. This was one of the teaching moments she liked. "I know, dear, but you need to let him finish up some business with the locals first. Besides, I thought that I would get the phone." She was also using this as a chance to educate the younger and up and coming player in the news industry. Sometimes the younger ones only thought of themselves and did not see that this might be an issue sometimes.

Mell settled back down into the chair and watched what the large man was doing at the bar. This was harder than one might think. Sometimes people can tell or feel when someone is staring at them. The trick is to watch a target using the corner of the eyes. This was a skill that every good reporter has or have to develop otherwise they would have to find a new job.

Ruth was also watching, only to be distracted by someone trying to talk to her in very oddly accented English. It took a few tries, but she worked out that their bar tab was almost used up. She was not surprised at the notice. Her budget was based on what meals in Tahiti might cost, but not meals in a tourist centric area. The food cost where not that high on this island, but the payment method was cash only. They had no idea what a credit card was, much less have a way to accept them. The less said about travelers' checks the better.

That had been planned for, to a point, before they left London. Ruth had picked up some gold and platinum coin rounds on the BBC's dime. That had taken a lot of tap dancing, but in the end, accounting had given her the funds for the metal currency. She had taken the cash to two local pawnbrokers and acquired their entire on hand stock of those items. She had not even bothered to haggle over the listed price. She just did not have time.

This party was not going to break the expense budget, but it would put a big dent in it. Ruth did not even blink when she pulled out another quarter ounce gold coin and passed it to their waiter. He took it and then started passing out the cold beer he had carried over to eager hands. The bar tab was recharged by some three hundred US Dollars. When the next quarter ounce was done, she was going to cut off the bar tab and the crew could pay for their own drinks after that.

Ruth was about to grab Mell to tell her that she was going to get the phone when a group of camera and sound operators pulled Mell aside to talk shop. So Ruth walked over alone. Her timing was a little off, and Drake was digging into his food when she rose from the table group. She made sure to walk up within Drake's sight line so he saw her coming. That was a trick she had learned while working with the IDF all the way back in her draft days. She watched him cut into a steak that smelled good, even at a distance, but was way too bloody for her taste.

They made eye contact, and he just pushed the sat phone that was on top of his hiking rucksack closer to her. Ruth nodded her thanks, picked up the phone, and then headed outside were it was both quiet and private. Drake just kept on eating his meal in private. It was not like she could run far with the device. She was walking and pulling out the card that held the list of important numbers. All she needed to do was figure out who she should call first.

Ruth went out the front wooden doors of the restaurant and quickly found a well-made chair at the nearest corner of the wraparound deck. Using a sat phone was not old hat to her, but she knew how to use one. In a few seconds she had the fat round receiver out of the side of the device, and the number she wanted to contact punched in. She did a quick double-check of the phone number before hitting the green button to give the command to dial the numbers. She knew that even a misdialed call would be charged, and the charge was not going to be cheap. She had three different numbers and she had chosen this one because of the time change. She could not help but feel her heart rate start to pick up as she thought about what she was going to say before the device had even fully transmitted the numbers to an overhead satellite.

The phone rang four times and Ruth was about to hang up and try a different number when a strong male voice picked up at the other end. She told the Vice President in Charge of Production everything that had happened on the island. She was only a little surprised to find out that both of her interviews had been aired already. The one interview that everyone was calling 'The Interrupted Interview' had already been replayed on worldwide news stations all over the world. She was floored when she was told that it had just gone through a third rerun a few hours ago, and still was drawing huge numbers of viewers.

She told him that Mell had gotten a second or post event interview on the pier with the outpost's commanding officer. She also briefly described some of the images, which got the home office very excited. The VP did not want to risk the tape getting damaged on the way off the island but there was no other way to get it out. So, she would be putting this latest interview on the next cargo ship, which should be arriving near dawn or mid-afternoon as per the posted schedule. She told them that it was a short interview, so maybe the Tahiti van could shoot it out to the world instead of fly it out. She wanted to get as much bang for the buck, and if they could get this new story out soon enough it would drive the story even harder. It was not often that a news organization can get two or three days out of a single core story. Particularly not if that story was not covering bombs or blood. If a news story was either of those two, it would get a lot of mileage. As the old news saying went, 'if it bleeds, it leads.'

She also explained that their sat phone had shorted out, and that it was not the battery. She explained that for this call she was borrowing one from Doctor White and the San Diego Zoo. Ruth about dropped the phone when the subject was changed on her out of the blue. The question came right out of left field. The VP asked her to ask the Colonials if they could set up a permanent office on the island with satellite link up capabilities back to the real world. When Ruth was told this was not a joke, she almost dropped the phone into her lap. She had been only hoping to try to get a few more days or maybe another week here. She had to look around to see who might have been within earshot, but there seemed to not be anyone near her. She was not the only one on the wraparound deck but she was at least confident that she was not being listened to.

She told the VP that she would ask and that she had been thinking along those same lines all day. At that point, he hit her with a second bombshell. He wanted to know if she wanted to be in charge of the new news bureau, and no, this was not a joke. This was a step up and at the same time a step down for Ruth's overall career. The warmer weather would be better for her aging bones than say London in the winter or the wet season. It was not like she had not thought about spending more time in this part of the world, but it was going to be a small bureau, not a main support base like New York or London or even Hawaii. It was more like Omaha or Little Rock. Then again, it would be supporting access to an area that might give BBC access to outer space.

She spent the next thirty minutes working out the details. In the end, she took the job with a huge smile on her face. It would not be official until all the paperwork was signed, but she would be the one on the blame line as of that night for anything that might go wrong under her watch. She was given a very nice operations budget, and even a twenty percent base pay raise. She would lose the London cost of living allowance, but only after she closed down her apartment. She had not even needed to fight that hard for any of the compensation. The key to the deal would be talking the Colonials into letting them set up this new news bureau in the first place.

She told her boss that she would contact him in about twenty-four hours using the borrowed phone. At that point she could let him know if they were going to be able to stay longer, like say more than the three more days that had been agreed upon. She was hoping that she would get a deal done by then that would have the BBC be the first and so far only news outlet this close to the people born on a different planet. Who knew what might be next for her to do? The first news bureau on a different planet? Talk about getting her name put in the history books of journalism. Joseph Pulitzer eat your heart out.

Ruth ended her call by making sure to let her boss know that the BBC would have to repay the Zoo for these phone calls. The VP assured her that someone would be contacting the Zoo within a few hours to work out the finer details. She had only planned to be on the phone for ten or so minutes, but this had taken a lot longer than that.

Ruth was smiling as she dropped phone back off to Drake. Drake for his part was just starting to worry when Ruth came back into The Restaurant. She had a large grin, well large for her, plastered all over her face. Drake was finished with his meal and was relaxing with the music, beers, and the general party atmosphere that was percolating throughout the restaurant. He did not look at the charge remaining on the phone.

"Well, you look like you received some good news?" Drake was not even buzzing yet, but he was more relaxed than he had been in a few days.

Ruth smiled a little more and gave him an eye wink. "Yes, I have. Sorry I took so long. My boss will cut a check to your Zoo for the phone time or any data charges. I might need to borrow it again, if you don't mind."

Drake gave a slight nod to let her know that he had no issue with her using his sat phone. He gave her a little wave in lieu of asking for some more info. Before responding Ruth climbed onto a stool and propped an arm over the bar. "It seemed like our two interviews have been on continuous run with an explosive number of viewers on each showing. My boss and his boss are so happy with me that they want me to see if I can talk the locals into letting my company set up a news bureau here." She was rewarded with a shocked look on the man's face. "Oh, and they want me to oversee the whole bloody thing. It would seem, that they think there might be enough going on out here for a full-blown news bureau to be set up."

Seeing the older woman so happy made it so that Drake could not keep a smile off of his own face. When she spoke about setting up a bureau on the islands, the expression in his eyes abruptly changed. Drake reached over and pulled out his camera. He flipped the screen over and went back through the images until he found what he was looking for. He passed the camera, screen out, to the newswoman.

"I saw these odd, maybe military trucks being unloaded. I was told that some have been coming in every few days. I don't know how many they might have. Do you know what they are?"

Ruth took the camera and flipped through half a dozen different eight wheeled, off-road capable, tactical monster trucks. They were complete with equally oversized bread box cargo compartments built onto them. She went back and forth through the images a few times, and then her head started to shake from side to side slowly.

"I have no idea what they are, but I agree they are military vehicles of some kind." Ruth noticed the bartender was paying attention to what was going on between her and Drake. With a smile she offered the device to the other woman. This was something only a journalist would do. Your average military person would not have considered doing it.

"Do you know what these things are? We saw them the other day being offloaded on the pier." The tone Ruth used was sweet, almost to the level of sickly sweet. It was pure reporter-digging-for-a-story.

The bartender took the camera and looked at the images. He then called over a man that could be anywhere between twenty and thirty local years old. The only thing that stood out about the man was that he was in what even the visitors knew as a military uniform. He looked at the images and then back to the two visitors standing on his side of the bar.

Ruth started to worry that maybe she had misjudged in handing over the camera. What she did not know was that the young Colonial officer had been tasked tonight to keep an eye on the BBC crew. His normal job had him working at the command post five days out of seven. He knew exactly what these machines were, and he even knew why they had been bought in the first place. It was not a secret, as far as he knew.

He handed the camera back, but he did not hand it back to the bartender or even Ruth. He handed it back to Drake. He made sure that the academic and he had eye contact while the camera passed hands. In accented but understandable English, he addressed the two visitors. "Those are what your people call 15T118 and 15T117's. We bought and are buying them refurbished from an eastern European company. Why are you interested them?" The tone had just a little edge to it, but not too much to send someone running for the door.

Ruth turned to Drake and made a sign for him to explain his interest in the massive fifteen-meter-long tucks. She hand no idea what the name meant, but it sounded a lot like a military name to her trained ear. Drake took the camera and then nodded to Ruth before answering the question. He looked at the man in the uniform.

"I saw one batch being unloaded not long after we got to this island, and then a saw some more come off the ship that took Ron and his team home. I never have seen anything like them, and I was wondering what they were used for. You gave them a name, but I still have no idea what they are or what they are used for." He did not feel the need to mention that he recognized the Ukrainian flag on the side of at least three different trucks.

The military man nodded and made a face. What the visitor was asking was not classified and they were not going to be used by the military or for the protection of the people on these islands. He gave a slight shrug after a handful of seconds, deciding it was okay to inform the man. "They are mobile field kitchens and sleeper trucks. We are going to be sending them off-planet as soon as a ship lands that has tall enough decks to accommodate them."

Drake nodded his head. He could understand how a few large mobile kitchens and large moving climate controlled bunk houses could be useful off grid. Ruth however was at a loss and her inner reporter kicked in. "Why would you need those things? Your commander has been buying up all of the larger off grid camping trailers that have been coming off the lines. Why would your people need something special like these massive things?"

The military man did not say anything for a few long seconds. Then he gave an amused smile as he worked out the best way to say what he need to say. "We only have a small population base for two full planets and another star system that we are setting up and supporting mining operations on. We only have about what you would call a small town's worth of people. Those large camping trailers we have been buying are intended for people getting off of the transports, but they are not that great at setting up a living area for something like a mining site, or even just looking for an area that would be good for planting or fishing. Those larger trucks fit better."

Ruth still was not connecting all of the dots. Drake turned and added what he thought might help her understand. "Those camper trailers need good roads to be moved around on, or a large helicopter. They also need very flat and hard ground to be set up on. That does not even count the water and disposable needs for each of them to be workable for any length of time. Having a large mobile kitchen would make it a lot easier to support a mining camp out in the middle of nowhere. The bunkhouse trucks would make for only a small number of vehicles that will not long support chains to remain in constant use. As long as the trees were not too big and or the ground too soft that the trucks can't cross, they're good. Those monster tires could take them almost anywhere that a group might want to go for weeks without much in the way of extra support."

Now Ruth got a lost look in her eyes. She was having a set of images from the Cold War, or maybe it was an old movie. It was of a massive multi-axle wheeled transport pushing through snow filled trees. It was carrying a large nuclear tipped missile through the snow covered Siberian forest. She had to give herself a slight head shake, which also just happened to hide the shudder that had just gone through her body. She started to speak to cover up of the shudder even more.

"Okay, that makes sense. I can see how those things would be useful. I never knew that something like them existed. You must hand it to the Russians. They could think outside of the box when they had to." She was not going to ask if these things had been modified from a role that was a lot more militaristic than being a food truck.

The military man took a new beer that the bartender put on the wooden bartop while he had been talking. He did a mock toast to the two visitors, before moving back the way he came. He was not looking forward to having to write up the post shift report for this one, but the beer was a nice way to ease the pain. Ruth left Drake's side not long after the Colonial had left. She waited just long enough to thank him again for the loan of the sat phone. Drake watched her return to her group. The group reacted as if she was the queen bee, or maybe an alpha she-wolf returning to the pack lands after a long hunt of some kind.

Drake finished his second beer after the meal plate had been taken away, and checked his watch before making contact with his own boss. At least this time, his phone call was going to be a lot shorter than Ruth's had been. Then again, he did not need to worry about the phone bill just yet. After all, the phone's billing account was not in his name.

He took his beer and left the loud bar area to go out to the outside deck. This was a planned call, and he was not calling Doctor Owen's cell phone this time. He was calling the main office line. He fully expected this call to go into a packed conference room. He was right, the voice that picked up was not his boss. It was the head person in charge of the overall complex that made up the whole San Diego Zoo, the big kahuna.

Drake passed along what happened to Ron and crew, as well as the information that he had gotten from the BBC crew. Most of the information was rehashed and already known, but some of it was also new. He asked about a few ideas that he had written down in his little green book. This did cause a few side bar conversations to start, but only until they were stopped by the senior manager in the meeting. All that were present for today's meeting agreed that those ideas would be helpful in the near future on many different levels. There was such an information gap with these people from another star that it was driving all of the academics that worked with or through the zoo's dependents borderline nuts. It was a sad mix of information age and dark age. Some of them had not seen something like that since the Syrian Civil War of 2015.

Drake's last directive was to keep working until they physically threw him off the island. He was told to leave only just before they did it by force. He did not even need to be fully clothed when they threw him off of the islands. They would have pictures if he let something like that happen to him. That was a joke... almost. They also asked for any images of that little event with Ron that he might have or could get his hands on. He was told to gather as much data on any subject he felt was important and could get without causing an interstellar level incident. If he needed to, the zoo would pay the data rates for him to digitally transmit his reports or high value data directly back to the campus' main servers from the sat phone. He was to act on any idea and worry about its utility later. He was not to worry about that while he was on the islands. He was to gather data and make the zoo the center for any information that was related to plant, animal, or human life that did not live or was not born on this planet.

As it turned out, he was on the phone longer than Ruth had been. When it was done, Drake went back in to finish his last few beers and join the party. It was well after local midnight when the group left to make for their respective sleeping areas.


	33. Chapter 33 part 2 of a long haul

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 33 Settling in for the Long Haul**

Earth Early April 2019

Eight days later, as the sun rose over the island's mountains, a larger than normal number of people was again standing on the pier looking out into the water of the lagoon. The day before a message had been posted in The Restaurant and at the two visitor camps. It had listed what was special about part of the next shipment coming out to the islands. It was going to be carrying post mail for the Earthborn that had remained on the islands. The first note also said that any future notices would only be posted in freely open areas that would be determined at a later time. New information was also put out in a message posted at The Restaurant, with an odd little side note for everyone to read saying that if they were not on the pier by a given time, the items would be sent back to the senders with additional post charges. Claimers must have two forms of picture ID to claim any mail or package. No one knew if they had mail or not. The only way to know was to show up at the pier when the ship made port. That was why there were so many people standing around the loading pier getting in the way. It had only taken a few pointed remarks to get the sightseers out of the way so that the heavy duty aft ramp could be lowered to the pier.

As the flatbed trailers rolled off of the twin hulled ship, they did not look like much to the onlookers standing around while still being careful to stay out of the moving trucks' way. The Spearhead class M/V Fall River could have been sending items out both the main loading ramp and the gangplank, but the gangplank was quiet. It was deployed, but it was emptied after it had finished being attached to the pier. Soon enough an older couple that both looked to be in their fifties were seen carrying armloads of items off the ship down the metal gangplank.

The pair made at least three more trips back up the angled metal ramp, disappearing within her white painted hull. Once they were satisfied, the packages were moved onto a white plastic folding table that had been the first item removed from the cargo ship. It had been set up off to one side of the ramp not long after the ship was moored to the pier by her crew. The pair gave a joint wave to the group of onlookers, but when the mass of people moved towards them in one wave of humanity, the one that looked to be in charge loudly blew a whistle and held up one finger of his right hand. He then started yelling something in French. This stopped the small group like they had hit a brick wall mid step.

Each person would come up, one at a time, and god help them if they were standing too close to the person in front of them. The offender was berated in loud and rapid-fire French until he or she had backed away from the other person. It did not matter that none of them knew French. People would be amazed at what can be done with volume and tone alone. The mail handlers would check the picture ID's, then look through the list of names on a digital tablet. Surprisingly, only two of all of the people looking for mail did not get at least a letter. In comparison one group got everything from letters to care packages. Meanwhile, the cargo ship was still unloading, but these packages were orders of magnitude larger.

Each of the heavy cargo trucks rolling off the cargo ship had only four metal plates on the flat bed trailers. Each sheet of metal was about twelve inches thick and about fifteen feet long by four feet wide. What everyone watching did not know was that each electric semi-load was already at maximum load despite what looked like very small cargoes on the long trailers. Most people tend to forget how much solid rock or iron really weighs. If the road had anything like a hill, then the Colonials would have had to add a second pusher engine just to move the load along to the space port.

Five hundred tons of high strength steel was coming off the cargo ship as fast as it could today. This load of metal was payment for the second Colonial made weapon. That powerful destructive device was going to a weapons and ammunition manufacturer outside of Salt Lake City in the United States. The steel had come from the newly rebuilt Geneva Steel mill located on the outskirts of Vineyard, Utah. This was the United States' first sell. It was also its first major official governmental level deal with the human aliens of any sort. Military dealings were on a different level.

The demand for special steels had been growing even before the Colonials had found Tau Ceti. And so plans to meet this need had been in the works before the Colonials even landed on this planet.

Most of the ground work had already been done on the rebuilding and upgrading of the steel mill all to way up to the level of all of the paperwork being done, which had taken the longest to complete. Even the foundations were done and almost fully cured when the Colonials met with the UN. The long lead items had been placed on order not long before Adama had contacted the law firm.

The batches had been rushed to completion when the Colonials started ordering steel by the shipload from all over the world. These were just sample sized lots, even for a company this small. It was a risk, but one that had just started to pay off with sales all over the world. More to the point, it allowed the owners to start paying the back interest that had been building up on the loans they had taken out to do the work and pay for the overtime when they had first started up operations. If things stayed at this rate, then all of the loans would be paid off in four or five years. That was a lot better than the dozen that their initial forecasts had predicted.

Meanwhile, China was dumping steel on the open market at the same price as raw ore. This had put most normal bulk steel makers out of work in the US and most other countries around the world. When China, the world's largest exporter of steel, was banned from selling steel to the soon to be second largest user of specialty steel on the planet and to a growing list of other counties, Geneva Steel had been almost perfectly placed to make a boatload of money.

Whenever any steel hit the market for the last few months, it was being bought up as fast as it could be cooled down to an acceptable shipping temperature. This was all due to the increase in demand across the board. It did not matter if it was going into defense systems like tanks, ships or missiles. It could go into any of a number of private projects going on in the southern hemisphere. It would take at least five years for the environmental impact statements to be done on any new production of steel in the US. That was the window that all current steel production facilities were working within to make a profit, before more fish joined them in the pond.

* * *

Geneva Steel was not under any contract for its output, due to the small size of the facility and the size of its current production lots. So, when another instate company representative was seen being escorted by several state officials on an unannounced visit to the plant, most people's minds started screaming between their ears. The idea that floated around was that some kind of environmental issue must have come up. The people in the front office were starting to think that they might need to start looking for new jobs. It was like a wave as word quickly spread around the facility about the unexpected visitors and government personnel. Something like that happened to companies like this very rarely over the last few decades.

The foreman had to almost break out a whip to get everyone back focused on working with a thousand degrees of semi liquid metal before a lapse in concentration killed someone. That did not mean that the duty foreman was not also distracted by the parade of suits on the overhead walkways.

When the entourage made it to the office, even the managers were starting to worry. This was only kept hidden by very good hygiene products. The meeting was small for what they were talking about. Utah had a state supported Export Bank, and it was very well known in certain circles that it existed. The bank was used to cover some business short term loans meant to cover the cost of locally produced products for sale to overseas users.

The representative from the local firearms manufacturer wanted to trade five hundred tons of the best steel that Geneva could make to the Colonials. It was going to be for a weapon and what was considered to be a very small amount of ammunition. The Colonial produced firearm was to be tested and maybe somehow copied by his company. The data from the test would be useful for any number of other projects that could become revenue generation lines for the state.

The Governor thought that if word got out that Utah had steel good enough for a space faring people to use, then it could increase sales of that class of product to a whole new worldwide market in the short term. The state leader was looking at the idea from a lot of different ways. They could add to the price of the taxes of the products or just wait for an increase in total sales. The total sales taxes coming in for the steel would increase either way. If there was a large enough increase in the sales of this steel, the mining and shipping industry could also grow. All of that also would be taxed, one way or the other. All of that income could be used in different areas of the state as soon as the next year's budget. It was very rare that the Export Bank did not at least break even when it decided to step in.

The head of Geneva Steel was happy to help the Governor of the State of Utah and the local firearms manufacturer. He and his company would be getting paid no matter what happened to the steel after it was off his property. He had to check his computer, and after some quick math in his head, he told the group that he could start mixing the perfect formula tonight and have the complete order cooling in about eighteen hours total. It would be on its way to an ocean port about four hours after that. The weapons company president shook hands with the steel manufacturer and the deal was done. The payment would be transferred from the Utah Export Bank to the Geneva Steel account as soon as the steel exited the company's property.

The steel was already in transit to the island of Tahiti when the company lost the first bid on the weapon they had wanted. The load of metal was nevertheless offloaded on the island that now had the largest income generator that was not tourism in its history. The weapons company was just waiting for the next opportunity to offer up their deal, again. The weapons company was betting that it was only a matter of time until they won what they were looking for. The only issue had been on four of the sheets of metal. Even high quality steels did not like salt water, not for long anyway. A replacement batch was airfreighted out as soon as word was sent that the timeline was moved forward for the next weapons.

As it happened, and it was just on a lark, they had done something different on the last bid. They had sent as an attachment what was basically a specifications sheet for the metal with their bid. They had been expecting to have to wait a month to find out if they were successful in gaining access to an off world made weapon. They were very surprised when they received a message about the auction timeline being accelerated. They were even more glad, and surprised, that they won the same type of weapon they had lost on the first bid. The same type of weapon that had been used across the world at an airshow and shaken the world. They were going to get it for only a few hundred tons of steel.

The oddsmakers in Las Vegas had the next weapon going to Boeing or BAE in the United Kingdom. The Utah weapons manufacturer was on the list, but at over three-hundred-to-one to win the next round of products. The only person who had put money down in all of Nevada at those odds, had been the head of production and top foreman of Geneva Steel. He was the lowest ranked person in the whole company to realize where that new load of steel was going after it was milled.

Years later, he would kick himself for not betting more than the off-track minimum amount of only ten dollars per bet on the deal. On the plus side, he had put four bets down in different locations around town. He had lost forty dollars after setting a limit of only betting a hundred dollars for that month. Any more than that and his wife would remove something he liked to keep attached to his body with a plastic spoon. If he was lucky he would not have to sleep on the couch for week after her surgery on him. After he had won, she had complained a few times a year to him that he should have bet more.

The governor was planning to hold a major press conference as soon as the alien weapon was in his state. He wanted to hold it in his hands so that the world could see that Utah was now not only on the world scene, but also on the multi-world scene. That was not a bad return for a little over a million-dollar investment even with notes to increase it to as high as ten million from the state's Export Bank. Very few people had any idea that within a year, his state would be the world's leader in the production of a whole new class of rocket propellant. And it was all because of this one deal, and this one deal alone. That was not going to be the only windfall from this deal. However, it would be the one that everyone would point back to in the coming years. The other areas would just be small footnotes in academic papers in less than a few years.

The rocket fuel makers would not be able to completely duplicate the Colonial chemistry in the ammunition, but they would make a new class of propellants off of what they found. This would lead to was called _Extreme Energy Density_ fuels, and it was a close second in power to the combustion power in those rounds per mass. These weapons and ammunition manufacturers in the state were the first to bring to market new rocket motors for different uses. Some of them were not even for government only use to go along with the new class of projectile rounds. Their new solid fuel would have ten times the rated output per pound of anything else on the market.

Geneva Steel would even be able to go to full manning and output only three months after the weapon was delivered to their state. This was starting from a single shift of three weeks of work followed by two weeks unpaid downtime for the staff. Most of the delay was in hiring and training the new people. A year later they were doubling their output of high and extreme grades of steels that they had come up with in-shop. Utah based companies would end up winning, on average, one out of every six of all of the bids for Colonial goods for the next two years.

Almost every one of those winning bids, was because of Geneva Steel or a company they worked with. Utah would be the labeled 'The New Silicon Valley' and the heart of the new generation of high tech metallurgy that they started more or less single-handedly. They were followed a close second by a few firms in Australia, but that was a whole different country. That country did not even have a massive rocket fuel industry already set up like Utah did. There were rumbles about a new class of steel that a few had been working on Down Under for some time before Utah stunned the world, but nothing had made it to the market place.

* * *

That was in the future, though. Ruth was picking up her care packages just as the first load of steel was being offloaded. It was hoped that every one of the BBC staff would receive one package from the post. If they did not have any family to make one of those packages, then the company public relations team put one together for them. They did this by selecting items from a list that Ruth and a special support staff had provided beforehand. It was just too bad that two had been lost in transit and would not make it to the island for another week. Those two had some very hurt feelings. A level of hurt that is hard to explain to most people. While she waited, her mind started to drift back to the time right after Ron and his people were forced to leave the islands.

After her phone call with her bosses, Ruth had asked each member of the team who had accompanied her to the island. She had started the next day with a question right during the early morning meal. She had asked if they would like to stay on if the Colonials decided to let them set up a permanent office on the island. Everyone, to a person, including Mell, had wanted to stay. That was a great surprise to Ruth, and they had all agreed to stay for up to a year. That is, if they could.

It was still early the next morning when Ruth made her way to the brain center of the island and asked to see the commanding officer. She made sure to tell the guardians at the gate that she only needed a few free minutes of his time. She had to make sure, twice, that the Colonials guards understood this was not for an interview of any kind. It was going to be only about general business.

After standing around the old airport lobby for about fifteen minutes, one of the locals came up to her from behind and in proper English that still sounded very bad to her ear told her that the commanding officer would be able to see her at the BBC hut at around noon. She thanked the woman and left the airport building with a lot of pep in her steps. Ruth walked back to the house they were using as a base camp without seeing anything that was out of place.

On her way back, she ran into Drake as she turned around a very sharp corner of the road. He was carrying his wood bedding platform, which he had made on the island, and his medium sized rucksack down the black top road. He was walking at a good pace despite the heavy load of wood and other organic materials he was carrying.

"Hey Drake, what are you doing?" Ruth had to almost yell to make sure her voice carried the distance and over the surrounding sounds of the island. Traffic noise was not an issue, at least until the next cargo ship made a stop by.

Drake slowly turned and after seeing who had called out to him, he set down his load and waited for the head of the BBC news team to close the few hundred meters distance to him. "You're up early, Ruth."

Ruth had picked up her pace, but she was not as young as she once had been. "You too, what are you doing?"

Drake had a wry smile on his face. "Ruth, you are a reporter down to your core."

He made a slight adjustment to his military rucksack. "I am moving back into the Academic Hut."

Ruth gave him an odd look. "The Academic Hut?" She thought that she had heard that term before but she could not place it right then.

Drake had to smile. "That is what the locals call the house they had Ron and the rest of us staying at. At least when we first got to the island."

"Oh, I did know that, but forgot what they were calling it. And why are you moving? I thought you liked living out under the stars in your little tent. You were all by yourself, and no one would bother you. The sound of waves must have been nice."

Now Drake gave a belly laugh. "I don't mind living under the stars. It's the bugs that bother me, and you know sometimes it's nice to just walk around without needing to dump sand out of your shoes every time you use them. You have no idea what even a handful of sand does in your sleeping bag. It was empty so I thought I would just move back in. I still have a lot of work to do, so it's not like I'm rushing to get a roof over my head."

The two of them walked and talked together until Drake had to make the turn off to the large house. It took the tall man two days to get all of his items to the house and set up the way he wanted them. The only surprise that would meet him after moving in was that the door was eventually replaced, right around the time he came back from trying to collect some samples on the third day after Ron's hasty departure. He knew that he was still being watched, but they were so good that most of the time he did not see them anymore. The new door was just another sign that the Colonials were still watching him pretty closely.

Ruth waited for the Colonial officer to stop by in what she hoped would be her new work place. She was not the type of person to just sit around and do nothing while she waited. She started working on the editing table and was soon lost in work. One of the sound guys had to pull on her arm, twice, to get her to realize someone was there to see her.

Charles was waiting on the front porch of the large house. This was for the simple reason that the living room of the house was now more useful as a news studio than as a regular living room. He was sitting down already, and she took an open seat beside the Colonial officer. Ruth pitched to him the idea of having an international news station transmitting from the Colonial controlled outpost and why it was a good one. Charles, for his part, listened. He did not say or give any indication of what he was thinking until she was done with her not so little sales pitch.

After he was sure Ruth was finished, Charles stood up from the wooden chair and looked out on the yard like he was lost in thought. Then he took a few steps and propped himself against the wood rail that ran about three quarters around the home. He did not say a word, and had a look on his face that communicated his uncertainty. He was, in fact, watching Ruth very closely and he could tell that the look was working as he had hoped it would. This made it harder to keep the look on his face. The BBC did not have that great of an email or social media security system.

He asked how many people she was going to need to add to the current crew in order to do what she had just pitched to him. He also wanted to know if they would be able to re-transmit entertainment signals to the homes of the people who were living on these two islands. After a few minutes of back and forth, it was clarified that he was only talking about doing so for a few hours a day of entertainment. He did not care what was broadcast from and to the islands.

He did remind her, that everyone who came to the islands had to be self-supporting and that the Colonial government and her people would not be obligated to give them any supplies. Exceptions might be made for emergencies and life or death issues but something like that was not to be counted on. He also told her that the station would have to obey both local planetary laws and Colonial laws. He was surprised that Ruth and her boss had already reviewed the posted laws of the Colonies. If she could handle that, then yes, the Colonial Refugee government would like the BBC to set up an office on the island on a probationary basis.

Ruth's heart was beating a mile a minute as she realized what she was about to do. She had not even needed to drop back to her backup plan of just staying for a few more months. "I will recheck with my bosses. We're going to need a place to work and live in. Would your government be willing to let us lease this building and some surrounding land? We will have to make some changes to them to better support our needs and to meet your requirements." Renting a building to run a television studio was one of the most expensive line items to take into consideration when setting up a new studio.

Charles now let a smile come to his face that was very genuine. "You can use this building and all of the land that is marked by the fence line. We had not planned on using this building or the land around it for some time. We will trade the use of this property for a few a few hours of entertainment a day, but only for the people who live on our islands. I don't think I can swing having to build a larger transmission tower for local use."

Charles and Ruth left the porch and walked along the whole property and talked mostly about what the soon to be operational news studio would be like and who would run it. Ruth did not return to the inside of the house for almost two hours. Not one of her people made a comment about how friendly the soon to be head of the local office of the BBC was with who amounted to be the local military governor. Warlord might also fit, but that title might cause a few issues that were not recoverable on many levels. Mell did not say a word, but she did notice that she did not like the comments about Ruth and Charles. The days that followed were full and enjoyable as the BBC got ready for an expanded job on the green covered island.

A few days later, the note about mail coming to the island came and it hit the crew like a lightning bolt. It was during the time she was letting her mind wander that Ruth noticed the longer than normal break in the flow of trucks and larger equipment that was coming off the ship. She filed this information away into the background data files her group was slowly collecting about this trading outpost. She did not have a frame of reference on how much steel weighed, or how much cargo the 1,500 ton cargo ships were rated to carry on each run to the islands. It was not like she could look it up on her phone. Cell phones were beyond the range of any cell tower at the moment.

She could look that up later, it was not important right then. She was waiting for her other gift that had been promised by her corporate headquarters just like she had been every time one of the cargo ships made port since the agreement was finalized. Still, it was almost a surprise when she saw it for the first time, driving down the pier towards her. People might expect her to have heard the gift coming first, but engine sounds and moving metal have a strange way of interacting with the surrounding landscape.

The sight of the gift got her to thinking about her bosses' response to the information about the rent-free property. They had not believed it for a while. They then had been very overjoyed when it finally sank in that she had been telling them the truth. It took her two sat phone calls for this to first sink in, and then for her to fight for other support she might need. She had to fight to keep her operational budget at the agreed upon levels. This let them shift funds to other areas for the task that she felt needed more funds than was usual for a new news station.

An average person first seeing her gift would have been reminded of an ambulance, even if it was on the large size for most of those transports even in major cities. This white van had something odd folded down onto its roof. That folded down part up top was going to be taking something of a beating from the lower tree branches that covered the road.

The overhanging tree limbs were not that thick due to having been trimmed not long before the islands changed hands. If something was not done within the next year though, those limbs were going to be an issue unless the Colonials took care of it. Many would be surprised how fast things grew in a tropical forest. Now that Ruth had noticed the issue, she made a note to take it up with the Colonials. The truck had to be pulled off to one side and made to wait. It had not yet been cleared to leave the unloading and staging area of the pier, but still needed to get out of the main traffic way.

Ruth picked up the two printer paper box sized packages she had gotten from the post mail personnel. She had one under each arm as she headed for the waiting truck. Some people might think it was an ambulance of some kind, she was not one of them. While she waited to cross, a cargo moving truck that looked like a cross between a forklift and off-road vehicle stopped beside her new satellite up-link van. This drew her attention and she stopped even trying to cross the road. She saw three people hop out of the four wheeled vehicles and start to unhitch a large twin axle trailer from the odd forklift like thing.

By the time Ruth was to the door of her gift, the trailer was attached to its back. Ruth had planned to have everyone put their care packages from this drop into the van, but when she looked inside it, she saw that it was packed from floor to ceiling, and looked to be packed tight from the back doors to the driver's cab. This caused her to try to come up with another plan to carry the gift packages home. The last thing she wanted to do was ask the locals. It was just too early to get that reputation of always needing help from them. Carrying them all the way also would present their own set of challenges.

When she greeted the two new crew members assigned to her slowly growing staff, she quickly realized that even the limited open space in the cab was filled. No one was going to be hitching a ride back to the news hut today. When the two men asked about her interest in any open space in the van, she told them about all of the packages and pointed to her twin pair. They quickly pulled out a fish net. It looked like a bundle of knotted ropes with some hooks. They used the attachment points that were on the top sides and lower trailer rail on the new trailer to set the hooks and lines with quick arm movements.

Now everyone still waiting at the pier handed over their marked packages to be stacked on top of the modified utility turned 2,000 gallon off-road capable fuel trailer. Eventually all of the packages were on the flat trailer top, about five feet off the ground. Ruth took the shotgun seat in the van to guide the truck and trailer with the new driver to their new home. The rest of the crew had to walk the half mile to the house that was both their workplace and home. There was some grumbling because they had expected to be able to catch a ride back in the rumored transportation but at least they did not have to carry anything while they walked back in the hot sun and high humidity. The driver took it slow as he pulled away from the loading pier. The island was beautiful, but the driver was looking all around at the group of people who had shaken up the local economy and the whole world to its core. Luckily, he was smart enough not to pull out his cell phone to take photos as he drove down the narrow road. That was not the safest thing to do, even with the light traffic.

* * *

Meanwhile, Drake was also waiting for his own 'big gift' from his boss. He was sitting on one of the growing number of handmade wooden chairs and benches starting to populate the offloading area. There was a growing number of people who would spend their off time in this location. They would just watch the cargos being offloaded and chat with the ships' crews. A little bit of grey market trading was also done around the location, but most of the benches were used to fight boredom without needing to resort to alcohol. It also was turning into a nice fishing location with lines being able to go into the deep, protected water without needing to surf cast. Then again, in some circles fishing was a social event. It certainly got very social the first time a bull shark pulled on a hand thrown fishing line.

Drake had an idea of what his big gift should be, and he had high hopes. To his surprise, it was a lot smaller when it rolled out of the massive cargo hold of the ship. So much for his high hopes of getting a Ford Expedition. One of the ship's crew looked his way and waved him over. It was a small town and the crews that worked the cargo ships were a tight-knit group, just like the people who lived on the island. Drake had already worked out mentally that a lot of the crews on those ships were ex-military, maybe even ex-US military.

Drake was now the proud operator of an all-electric, fully amphibious, 8x8 Argo complete with a quarter ton lockable box trailer full of crap. It was a six seat, open topped, plastic hulled golf cart on a major overdose of powerful steroids. The Argo was empty but for a second set of large and heavy batteries tied down in the back two set of seats. The seats were thickly padded, water proof, and covered in woodland camouflage covers that Drake hoped was sun and salt proof. It also had the San Diego Zoo's logo clearly visible from every angle.

The trailer was a blue metal box that was locked by a pair of full sized metal doors. It was fixed onto a single axle with a nice pair of off road run flat tires that did not need an airline from the ATV to keep full. Drake had to check the lock and seal numbers stamped on the customs manifest before signing all the paperwork. This would officially have transferred ownership of the two items to his control. When his name was on the dotted line on three different pages, only then was he given a key ring with 4 different keys attached to the silver circle.

The open topped Argo ATV did leave him room to put not only the two boxes he had asked for, but also the four boxes that had his name on them in an open seat behind him. The original two boxes had been lost in transit somewhere, so his employer had sent replacements as fast as they could. It would seem that someone had finally found the missing pair. He had mixed feelings about what the rest of his day was going to entail. It was almost like Christmas but then again, it was all work related boxes he had to open. Sometimes that was a good thing, and sometimes it was not that great. Then again, he might be able to trade for a few cold beers to make the day better.

He had been told on his last phone conversation with the office that they were sending some large items that they thought would be a benefit to him. Especially given his new appointment as expedition leader. The zoo had come up with that idea, not him. That was because they knew he would hate it to the point of it adversely affecting the finer points of his job. The zoo knew that when Drake was in the field, it was best to leave him alone and let him work. The paperwork could be shuffled into the right spots for him.

This little good idea fairy had come down from the United States Department of State, and then reinforced with paperwork coming from the UN. It all said that they wanted him for this task in an official capacity that could be documented and pigeonholed. Behind closed doors, those two entities just wanted someone to blame if things went sideways again. With all of that mass pushing, the zoo had no choice but to tell him. It was that or someone might leak it to him flat footed. That might have turned out badly, for the zoo and for Drake.

Deep down Drake knew he had been getting a little long in the tooth to be running around the jungle alone for too much longer. He knew this, but that did not mean that he had to like the thought of being a boss. Much less being the boss of a group of people that he had no say in being included with his mission. They had sent him a spreadsheet with the longer ranged plans for his team, which had not made him a happy camper. Two of the people would be working on projects regarding areas in which he had between no clue and very little clue on the core subjects of. He did not want to have a naked eviction on his record, and that was how one could end up getting one of those. He had a feeling, down in his guts, that he was going to be more of a micro-manager than he liked within the next few weeks to a month. That was when they would start coming at the earliest. He was hoping that it would be closer to a month before he had to deal with any new people.

Drake's ATV was the last item to come off the cargo ship. The now empty cargo ship was being loaded up with some empty container vans. Drake had never driven anything like the Argo before, so he took his time getting used to the device with its attached heavy trailer. It was a lot different than the four and three wheeled ATV's he had used before. Taking his time and slowly working on building up his skills on the odd little vehicle with trailer, he drove around the pier a few times. He was able to witness the handover of the Colonial weapon and ammunition to a white suited man who had been standing on the cargo ship's main loading ramp.

Once Drake decided that he had the hang of driving the ATV, he was ready to leave the pier. When an opening was clear of other traffic, Drake pushed the accelerator down and the nearly silent craft with eight fat wheels took off down the dusty pier. He kept going straight for a time, then took the first right to put him on the black topped main road that would lead to his headquarters. He was almost to his house when he saw first one and then three of the walking BBC news crew. He could have just let them walk, but instead he picked them up. It was the polite thing to do, in his book. He knew that not all of them would be able to fit, but he was going to pick up as many as he could find. At least, until all of the seats were full. The ones sitting on the extra batteries were just thankful that the road did not have too many bumps. A battery post enema was something everyone had not been warned about in any safety briefing on Earth. It was a gross oversight.

Drake was only able to give a total of six of them a lift to their home. Even then, he could feel the ATV starting to have some performance issues. He hoped that it was only due to the added weight of people, cargo, and heavy trailer he was pulling on the thankfully level and well paved road. He was not able to help the last pair of walkers. It was just a good thing that they were already within sight of the News Hut by the time he came upon them. That way he did not feel too bad about not giving them a lift to the place that they called home.

* * *

Drake pulled into the driveway of the house the BBC was using just in time to witness them setting up the new truck that was the key piece of equipment for the new news station. Mell was also watching as they set up the van but as she had no idea what to do, she quickly decided that it was best if she stayed out of the way. This was Ruth's area of expertise, so she walked over and chatted with Drake while everyone unloaded themselves, some more awkwardly than others, from his new ride. This gave Mell and Drake something more enjoyable to talk about besides work.

This uplink truck was not the same one that had been sitting in a parking lot in Tahiti when Ruth and team had landed. Ruth had made it a point to both know and check out all of the BBC assets in the local area, both from her office in London and from a closer perspective. This van was one of the better equipped disaster support trucks on the open market. Originally, the BBC headquarters had wanted to send one of the almost semi-truck sized units for Ruth to use. That had been appealing, now that they had the money in the budget thanks to the increase in commercial rates the BBC could charge. Still, the budget office had only wanted to send them what was called 'a studio in a box'. That would have only been a little better than what Ruth had on the ground now. The smaller truck was not that much cheaper than the larger, road restricted, tractor trailer combination. It just had some non-news additions.

Unfortunately, all of those larger units were already in use, and it was almost a year's backlog to get a new one from the manufacturer. So in the end, they had to send one of the smaller and less capable units in its place. It still was a complete mobile news studio and production unit, all in a wheeled, climate controlled package. The larger trucks were most often used to replace a full blown damaged studio in medium sized markets or super major sporting events.

Ruth had the two newest crew members set the van up along the side of the hut that was facing away from the main road. She was not planning on needing the mobile part of the van that often. Her current idea was that the van would also act as back-up power supply to the living and working space in the hut. It would only do that job during the peak times of work, during the night, or in emergencies. At such hours, the wing turbine and the thin solar panels simply did not make enough juice to do the job on their own.

The C-band dish antenna was up and locked on to a communication satellite only minutes after the van was parked and the auto levelers started doing their work. A larger truck would also have had a five-meter Ku-band dish for very high bandwidth needs on top of what the C-band dish could support. Having this smaller truck meant everything was a little smaller and a little less capable, like the large C-band this van had come equipped with. A small local broadcast antenna would also be set up. It was a telescoping jack up antenna ten meters tall when fully extended. If winds came up, it had cabling and lines that could be attached to the van's cabin for support. Ruth hoped that it would be enough reach everyone on the islands from this location.

The Unity trailer the van had been towing was mostly for holding the 2,000 gallons of diesel fuel needed to run the built-in generators on the van. The idea was for it to only support the truck's mission and not to be used for ground transportation. Normally, this generator was only used when they did not have access to local power or more often than not, enough 'clean' local power to do the needed work.

As Drake and Mell watched, a roll out awning was unfurled off of one side of the van. That area was going to be the main access point to the inner workings of the van. You needed an awning in the rainforest. You really need an awning.

Mell had to explain to Drake that the awning was a dual purpose device. It would provide an outside shaded area for working or standing, and it would provide some power to the van. The last part was due to thin-film solar cells covering the outward or top layer of the covering. A dozen regular sized solar panels and another wind turbine was also being pulled out from the insides of the van as they watched. Drake made an offhand comment that it was like watching a clown car at the circus from his childhood. Stuff just kept coming out of what had to be a very small area. He also made an offhand Doctor Who comment that went right over Mell's head. Drake made a note to himself to not do that again.

Even with all that power generating capacity the van brought and the mixed team were putting in place, the equipment would need even more power at peak times. So a built-in diesel fuel generator would have to be fired up. This one was designed so that the power generators could feed off of the van's built-in extended ranged fuel tanks. When those tanks on the van ran dry, someone would have to handcarry fuel in five-gallon cans from the fuel trailer to the side of the van to refill them. It was not going to be a fun job, and Ruth hoped that someone would eventually work out a way to mitigate that task before too long.

Boxes and bags of items that both Mell and Drake had no idea what might be were also pulled out of the trailer and the truck at a not frantic but still fast pace. Those packages were not going into the hut. They were going into a pair of growing piles off to one side of the truck. Drake would bet two cold sodas that a lot of them would be going back into the van in the coming days, but only after a thorough inventory had been made of what was in those boxes and bags.

Finally, Drake decided it was getting late and he had his own unpacking to do, so he said his goodbyes and waved to the news crew working away around the van. He had some problems turning the 8x8 around with its attached heavy cargo trailer, but after a few failed attempts witnessed by many of the people working at the van, he was again on the blacktop road heading north, backtracking toward his hut and base camp. He could feel the difference in the performance of the ATV now that it was over five hundred pounds lighter in mass. He only had to dodge a few of the locals walking on the road or driving one of the two by now well imaged hovercars. As he drove, one part of his mind noticed that the locally owned and operated electric carts were almost strangely absent from tonight's traffic patterns.

* * *

Drake made a big loop around the home so that he would not have to deal with backing up his trailer again. When he had the ATV and trailer close enough to the hut, he shut down the ATV. That was when he took note of the charge remaining on the current set of batteries. First to come off of the ATV were his care packages that had sat beside him during the whole trip from the BBC hut. He wanted to get them into the house before dark.

Next, he returned with one of the camp lights. That was just in case he needed the light while working in the trailer. By now, he knew how dark it could get, and how quickly it could sneak up on someone unprepared.

After returning to the trailer with the small LED light in hand, he had a one in four chance to pick the right key. He chose poorly, and it took him all the way to the third key to open the metal doors at the back of the two wheeled trailer. The doors swung open and away from the trailer on well-oiled hinges. He decided that the trailer was either well maintained or new built. Sea salt and water did not react well when combined with most metals. Even outdoor equipment would go to crap very quickly on an island or anywhere that was close to salt water.

Drake was stunned when the paired green painted metal doors swung open and revealed what was protected by its thin metal walls. It was packed so tight, it was little wonder why the ATV had issues pulling the additional mass down the road. He just shook his head and started taking arm loads of water proofed cardboard boxes out of the back of the trailer. To save some time, and daylight, he was putting most of them down on the covered porch of the house. He had no idea what were in the unmarked wax covered brown cardboard boxes, but when he came to the plastic covered solar panels, now those he knew what were and how to use. It would seem that he was going to have more light in the near future. He very carefully removed and single stacked the solar panels in a place where he would not step on them, even in the dark.

Drake was not done unloading the trailer until well after the sun had sat. His two little camp lights let him continue until the job was done. The last items to come out of the trailer were the items at its front. They were the heaviest items on the whole trailer. By the time he was down to the last few items, he was wishing that he had known what was in the trailer before he had started unloading the blasted thing. Then he might have hired some of the news people to help him. You would be amazed what people will do for a cold beer or three.

He had never seen a solar powered refrigerator before, but he had heard of them so he knew what to do with one. He set it up outside where the twelve cubic foot device would be mostly under the shade for the entire day, or at least during the hottest part of the day. Then he put the solar panel and pole mount in the ground with a heavy metal post driver that had also been in the trailer. It took some time to work out how to attach the solar panels to the poles such that when the sun came up again it would start cooling the insides of the little but important device sitting in the shade. The shipped power cord was too short to run from the panels to the inside of the house. Drake made a note to see what he could do to fix that issue later.

Once all the heavy lifting was done, at least for tonight, he retreated into the house that was going to be his headquarters. He was enjoying having all of the dry and wind proof space to himself for the time being. With the power and refrigerator done, he should have started to move the other boxes from the covered porch into the living room. Instead he first wanted food, something to drink, and something for the pain in his back. He got one of his food packs heating up and took a few long sips of cool, but far from cold, flavored water. This came from his camel pack that had been hanging off of a convenient hook near the main door to the house.

With those needs taken care of, and the mess cleaned up, he first went to the four boxes that had been mailed to him. From the outside, they looked like about what would be seen in an office holding reams of printer paper, just a little smaller. They also weighed about thirty pounds each. That was less than if they had been carrying printer paper. Now that Drake could look at them more closely, he felt the corners of his lips turn down. These did not look like the order he had put in to his boss.

They all had the wrong look for what he had asked for days ago on the sat phone. His inner voice was hoping that they had not decided to be cute and adjust his order again. It was not a good idea for some unknown office people to send him things. They tended to send him things they thought he might need even when he had already told them exactly which pre-planned packages to send to him. It had happened before, and he thought that they had learned the lessons from the last time that particular mistake was made. He felt his blood pressure build rapidly, his heart rate start to race, and the hand holding the knife shake a little. He did not lose this temper often, but he did not like people who made the same mistake a second time. Not when he had been counting on them to do the job the way he had needed it to be done in the first place.

He shook his head side to side and got his blood pressure back under control. His boss knew better, but did his staff? He picked a box at random and with a flick at it with his belt knife, the cardboard box was open along its taped seams where it was marked 'top'. When he lifted the lid off, he was glad to see that it was one of the Type 2 packages he had requested after all. It was just packed in a bigger and different box.

A Type 2 box was for kids. That meant that it was full of sweets and chocolates of all kinds. On this island, it was also going to be the prime trading material for adults who lived here. He went through the larger than expected box quickly but stopped when he got to the bottom. That was where he found an inventory sheet for the box that he had just opened. That sheet should have been on top of the items or attached to the underside of the lid. This box was about a third larger than normal, and must have contained more than was normally packed into a Type 2. He closed the box back up, and then checked the other three boxes. There were no new items on the inventory list, just more of each. The date on the inventory told him that this was from first request.

The second box he opened turned out to be the Type 3. This box was geared towards helping adults from the third world or in areas of the world where there were not even 'normal' third world roads. It was full of cooking items that he had found were very useful in his career. This was not a package of pots and pans, but a box filled with spices and a nice hundred and twenty page cookbook. The cookbook was a special one that was made with waterproof and stain proof pages. It was great for places where the people controlling the food supply might want to try their hand at making a few American style dishes. The pages were not all filled with American style dishes that your average American would recognize as normal. It was a selection of meals that he had found worked well in a limited field kitchen that was generic. Just like they were doing down the road in the only restaurant.

Again, this package was about a third larger than he had been expecting for a Type 3. The extra space was filled with extra spices to fill in the additional space in the larger box. Those would be very useful in trading. It was just too bad that some of them were items that had not traded so well for him on this assignment. He had no doubt that he would find them useful, just not a gold mine. He also noticed the date on the inventory list.

If he had asked for a Type 1, it would have been filled with the common items needed to bribe a government official. It was not enough bribing material for a group to get out of trouble. It was, however, enough to get say one person off for a low-level misdemeanor. Or enough let them have access to an area that the local government might have put off limits. He was still working on ideas for a Type 4, but that was some time down the road. Drake checked the remaining boxes. The last two boxes he had gotten in the mail were basically a second Type 2 and another Type 3, but with the some modifications from the ones that he had looked through before.

The second Type 2 was missing the hard sour candies, but had more and different types of chocolate products. They all had one thing in common. None of them needed to be kept that cool to be enjoyed. The second Type 3 was missing the cookbook, but in its place was more spices and dried items that might be useful to cook with. It had things like onions and various hot peppers among other odd little things that just happened to be in small, weatherproof packets. The perfect sizes to be used in a family's cooking pot or traded for other things.

Drake spent the rest of the evening eating another one of his hot pre-packaged meals and going through the four boxes in more detail before he called it a night. He now had a lot of working capital, but he would have to use it wisely. He did not get to bed until the bright lawn decoration light was too dim to make out the names on the packages in his hands. He had a smile on his face as he laid down. He was wondering what kind of food was waiting from him to check out the next day. He did not think that his boss would send the trailer without packing it down with some more field food. He could not afford to eat out all the time, even with the infusion of wealth he had been given today. He also knew that these four boxes were from his first order, and he had maybe another set floating around out there.

* * *

The next month was extremely busy, with a lot going on at the island. They had more cargos landing and leaving. The rest of the world also was busy in general. The old LST making port calls on the Colonial islands multiple times a week was both a benefit and curse to both parties involved. It was able to dump a huge amount of backlogged cargo on the island at one time. The slower ship also took a full day to travel each way, but she was able to make ten full cargo runs to the island before a major engine failure suspended the operation. That repair did not take long, but it was a harbinger of more to come, and those would take longer to fix.

After its last breakdown, it was being towed to Hawaii for repairs. It had to be repaired before returning to its normal work farther east, as dictated by the lease contract. All the time that the LST was making runs to the island, the smaller twin hulled ships kept dropping off their cargo as fast as they could make the round trips. For once, there was no way for the Colonials to even come close to lifting cargo off planet faster than they were coming onto the island.

Part of the slack the now missing LST had left behind was picked up by two more Spearhead class ships that came online in the last week or so. Just part of it. The LST had been delivering two and a half thousand tons of cargo on each of the trips she had made all by herself. That was a lot of mass, and it needed storage space on the island. No one had let the Colonial operations center know about the changes to the amounts of cargo that would be coming in. They had only been told that a new ship would be helping out. They had sent the ship's name and a crew listing, but the first warning about the increase in the amount of lift had been when the Raptor landed an inspection crew on the larger seagoing vessel. Someone on Charles's staff had dropped the ball. Some people had to get some after hours re-training and testing for it. Charles still worried that his people had become too complacent in their work.

It was going to take some time before the Admiral could send enough additional lift to the blue planet to take all of the waiting cargo. The good news was that the next Colonial ship slated to land was one of the larger cargo ships still in active service with the Rag Tag Fleet. The Admiral had quickly cut orders for her to jump the line and pick up some of the influx of cargo. Even then it did not have to wait for a full load to slowly come in over a week or so. The crews did not enjoy having to bust their butts loading cargo that were not in standard Colonial type shipping and then launch again by the end of the day. It meant they would not be able to enjoy any down time like the previous ships' crews had. There were more than a few unhappy crewmen on that ship.

After the massive ship had lifted off and made it back to New Kobol, Colonial space ships were landing on Earth more or less twice a week to work on the extra loads that the trading outpost was accumulating. Charles maintained marked areas for the excess cargo to be stored at while they waited to be taken off planet. It was good news for all of the Colonials living across three systems of space. It did not take long for this news to filter out to the rest of the Colonials about the increase of shipping coming from Earth. It was only after a high level press conference that a full press release was done.

The payment for the cargo was a mix of items that had been ordered months ago by the Colonials and paid for in gold or the like, and payments to them for weapons that they were trading one at a time. The current rate of the weapons leaving the island was about one every five to seven days. It could have been and was faster sometimes, but the delay was in getting the cargo to that part of the world. The smart companies planned ahead. The richer ones just paid for air freighting the payment to Tahiti and then putting it on a boat going to the Colonials.

The BBC was now transmitting entertainment and news shows to the islands' inhabitants for about four hours a day. They started only two days after the uplink van arrived. Sometimes it was more, sometimes it was a little less, but it was all commercial free. The transmissions started during noontime when the sun was the highest in the sky. That way the solar panels and wind turbines could supply the power and the news crew did not need to burn that much of their limited supply of liquid fuel to do the job.

The receivers were in the form of a number of TV sets that had been left behind by the previous residents and fixed up by the current ones, and a few that had been ordered brand new or mostly new for local use. The Restaurant had ordered 4 large flat screens of local manufacture, and was still the center of the growing island community. Those flat screens had come from a retail shop in Tahiti, and were on the island only four days after the start of the BBC's operations.

* * *

Off planet things, were happening too. The flow of items coming off planet was a great help. Entertainment was also mixed in with the data coming from Earth and giving anyone with spare time a different opportunity to be occupied. Binge watching had been exported to the Colonials.

On the food production side, the first full scale harvests were coming in from the first plots. This was almost two years ahead of what had been planned for and announced to the general population. It was largely thanks to the septic tanks on the camper trailers. The farmers were collecting the waste and then using it to help prep farm areas. There were not that many people getting involved with the activity. Most but not all of them were from Captain Kelly's people.

It would seem that a green thumb was catching. It started in the hydroponics gardens that had been retrofitted onto all the ships. After so long living in the metal ships, playing and working in the dirt had become a very desirable hobby among the refugees and Rifters. Still, there was a big difference between hobby growing and full on farming even if it did increase the skill level of those who wanted to do the job full time.

The food coming from the fields and off planet were now replacing the algae vats supplied calories. When word had gotten out that they were dropping the percent of algae going into each person's meals to below ten percent, it had been met with a lot of fanfare on the planet and on the ships. Now it was down to only a few percent per day on some days. Only certain people received their meal wholly made of algae. Those were people in detention cells, or had decided not to be helpful to the rest of the refugee population. Again, that was well received news for the people of the fleet. Every time one of the cargo ships made a landing, it was great news about how much food she was bringing in.

The Colonials were slowly building up the central city and now had two mining camps set up and functioning. They also had more areas that were being scouted out or were in the early stages of development. It was not going fast and there would be more bumps in the road but then again, there was a real road map now. Even with the bumps, ships of the rag tag fleet were being ripped apart and repaired at a steady rate.

While that was going on the first production facilities for Colonial made goods were starting to be laid out. Bill, Laura, and everyone else were looking forward to when the first of the new production areas would start limited production much less when they went into full operations. The Colonials had a lot of projects in the pipeline, and very few of them were close to being done. Then again, they were making headway and not running from the Cylons anymore.

Bill was pouring something that was a deep red color into a glass. The red wine was still hard to find but not as hard to find as good ambrosia had become. Bill had already made sure that the right plants to make at least good quality ambrosia were ready to be put in the ground. It still would be some time before those young plants were pulled out of the agro ship and moved planetside. He was willing to wait for the good stuff and not some crap fresh out of a backroom still. When the glass was filled, Bill put the bottle back on the nearby table.

Laura looked at the filled glass from her comfortable couch and took a little sniff of the blood-like liquid. She raised one eyebrow as she inhaled the scent. "Bill, where did you find that?"

Bill shrugged his shoulders and took an open spot next to his wife. "I know a captain who knows a captain who owed me a favor, and he brought me a case not too long ago. I only open a bottle for important occasions." Bill was able to say that with a straight face. He did not even put a pillow down to protect his ribs from a possible elbow attack.

Laura did not attack. She just snuggled a little closer to the craggy faced man. "So, this is an important occasion." She was almost purring as she spoke.

Bill took a drink of the fermented fruit juice, and it just happened that the glass hid his smile. He did not say anything until the glass was away from his lips. "Well I would say winning re-election to become the first two term President in half a century, that might be worth breaking into something exotic for. Do you think you will buck the trend and go for a third term?"

Laura did not say anything for a few seconds. It was not like she had not thought about what she had been asked. It was not a written law that a President could only win two full terms. It had taken a ruling from a panel of judges to say that the first term she won had not been a full term. That was due to the interruption of the Cylons and all of the meddling that the Quorum had done with the rules and extra-legal stipulations. That ruling had stopped most of the talking heads dead in their tracks, but did she want to have another term as President?

"I don't know yet. I'm getting a little too old for this kind of work. I'm hoping that someone will come up that is younger, but still knows what needs to be done and can keep everyone on the same sheet of music to get it done. We have done a lot, but we have a long way to go."

Laura had one person in mind who was about right for the job to her eyes. She was just worried that this person was too close, family wise. That person's first marriage had fallen apart, and she was not surprised that it had. His new wife, whose first marriage also had ended in fireworks on a massive scale, was looking like she was going to be taking over as the flagship's commander with Felix as her XO. She was also careful not to say who she thought might replace her to Bill. She decided to change the subject as she set her now half empty glass back on the foot table. Bill was very good at digging up information that she did want him to know about just yet.

"Charles has seemed to have worked out very nicely. I was very surprised when you gave him the mission. Are you going to keep him there?"

Bill looked at his wife and knew that she had directed the subject away from politics. He also knew that she was slowly grooming his son to be the next President, or at least run for higher office. Bill was betting that maybe as soon as two years into the next Quorum election cycle, she was going to make her first major move. Bill wisely decided to not push it, and he went with her change of subject flawlessly. He had been married before and knew some of the guide lines of a successful marriage.

"He is a good man, and no, I am not planning on moving him. He is happy where he is. I'm going to slowly grow his skills, and then when he is ready, he is going to be the orbital fleet base commander when it's set up. That is, if he wants the job. I think that he might decide to stay on Earth. That is if my little bird is right about some personal issues that are developing with a local woman."

The two could not spend time together and not talk shop for some of that time. After the bottle of wine was done, the pair would spend a few hours relaxing and watching something that was mindless and had come from the planet Earth on the last cargo run.

* * *

Thing were pretty quiet on the islands while the surrounding area was still full of ships, submarines, and patrol planes keeping an eye or several on things. It would seem that only a small but growing part of the planet was getting used to having human aliens living on the planet with them. There were a lot of weapons and war craft in a very confined area with a lot of different masters to report to. It might be just adding to the point that an armed population is a civil population. That is unless someone was planning something, and they were counting on the others not doing anything about it. More than a few pointed to a certain set of lines that Tom Clancy said in one of his books that been turned into a move.

The first big event in the area was now being broadcast worldwide from the island by Ruth and her people. A Raptor was about to pick up fifteen tons of cargo to take to the ISS. The ISS was the only space station in orbit around this planet that did not belong to only one country or power block on the planet. There were two other stations, but fully manning them was proving to be an issue. The ISS was supposed to be supported by a larger group but in reality the majority of the work was done by only four countries, one of them on the 'no support' list of the Colonials. It had taken some backroom deals to get around this issue, but it had been done. Now the Colonials were running a support mission to it.

This all started when the latest cargo rocket had developed a major booster issue while it was still on the launch pad. A lightning strike caught on live feed video can do that sort of thing. It was going to take at least three weeks to repair it for another attempt at launching into space. NASA had contacted the Colonials and offered them two thousand US dollars per pound to lift the cargo to the ISS. The key was that they needed to do this lift of a total of fifteen tons in a few days. It was an all or nothing deal. That monetary offer was a tenth of the cost of the Russian Progress cargo delivery ship or any other rocket that had the capability to do the same job. Plus it was on a time line that no one could have done by a few orders of magnitude.

It was being pushed as a test to the power players to see if the two groups could work together as advertised by one of those parties. The brain trust over at NASA headquarters were betting that it would not work, but at least they could say that they had tried once. Then they could go back to the US Congress and ask for a lot more money. Besides, thirty thousand pounds was about three good lifts to the ISS on the current launchers, not counting the special heavy lifters. Who could lift that much mass on such short notice? It was called setting someone up for failure. Many careers had been made and just as many broken by such games being played.

Boxey let the commander know about the request as soon as he read the first set of emails. He also let his boss know what the score was, on many levels. He had no idea if the trading outpost's commander was interested. Especially after he was told what the locals normally had to pay to lift this amount of mass into low orbit. Charles was, however, more aware of the political games that might be in play or could be in play in the near future with one of the three planetary superpowers. He gave directions on how he wanted the task to be handled, and then turned it back over to his staff to carry out his idea. While they were working, he sent a personal message to his boss. It was a brief outline, but it covered the high points of what was going on. It also just happened to be covering the points that the Old Man had directed to be done as part of a larger picture.

Boxey acted as point person. He made sure that no one ever saw his face or had a clue about his age, or more to the point, his lack of it. It was Boxey who pointed out that the airlocks on the ISS would not mate to the Raptor's port side hatch. He pointed out that with all of the images the ISS had taken the last time the Colonial craft had been near the orbiting space station, those same images that NASA had posted to the World Wide Web, they should have known this. That pointed comment had not gone over well with NASA at first. Then it was the point of many jokes about too smart people who, as it turned out, were not that smart to begin with.

The set of modified still images showed that the low mounted wing blocked access between the two craft and would not allow the airlocks to obtain a proper seal. That was almost a deal breaker as far as NASA was concerned. That is, until Boxey asked if they could put the items that could not handle vacuum into smaller containers. He thought that if they could be put into the ice chest sized containers NASA used, they could then be passed, by hand, into the open airlock and stacked. Once the airlock was full, the Raptor crew could swing the outer hatch closed. Then the crew of the ISS could move the containers inside the airlock and cross load throughout the station. The Raptor could move to the second airlock, the one that was on the other side of the ISS, and they could do the same again while the first airlock was emptied.

The idea had merit. It would take longer to unload the cargo than if they could just match airlocks, but it could be done in a few hours without the ISS crew running up EVA hours. Even with this added labor, the whole mission might only last half a day. That would be from launch to return of items that needed to come back to Earth from the outpost in space. That was a total mission length that was lot shorter than say the almost full month it would have taken if the Earth made rocket had lifted on time in the first place. There was a large number of the senior people within NASA that did not think it was going to work. It was happening too fast for them to get their heads around all of the new ideas. They had gotten used to having months, years, if not decades to plan everything out down to the number of breaths needed to do each step.

A NASA trained film crew would also be catching a ride on the Colonial Raptor. They were to document the entire mission from start to finish. They were not going to be in NASA Space suits but would instead be outfitted in two spare Colonial flight suits the Admiral had sent some time ago. The normal NASA suits were too bulky to fit into the Raptor especially with all the cargo it needed to carry on this mission. That last minute roadblock had been meant to derail the whole mission when it was brought up. It was defused by one sentence in an email. "Oh we can have them use a pair of our spare suits."

That bit of information got a whole new group involved in the mission.

The Americans were going to film the entire mission from lift off to return with about a dozen different cameras. The secondary mission of the film crew was that they were going to help with the cargo transfer. The pair were not news people going to space, but a pair of real astronauts. They were just waiting for their turn to go into space. Of their class of nineteen men and women only four had so far made the trip.

The two astronauts knew that this might be their only chance to make it into space in the next decade. They went even knowing the risk and jumped on the mission list with both feet. That they would get to have firsthand use of a Colonial space suit was just icing on the cake, not to mention getting a ride in an alien single stage to orbit space craft. Neil Armstrong, eat your heart out. This was something they could only think of in Hollywood.

The timing of the launch was set for maximum effect on the target audience. Lift off was planned for 5pm local Florida time for maximum news affect at the start of the mission. The original idea was that when it failed, all of those news watchers would see it. Now it was not working out as planned.

Almost the entire Colonial controlled island was either watching the show, or on duty and watching the show alongside their other duties. The Raptor took off and flew a least time flight path from the South Pacific to the Atlantic coast of the state of Florida at a few mach numbers for most of the flight. The flight path was cleared for the most part but that did not mean that some countries did not try to get more information on the slab sided craft. She flew almost directly over the jointly crewed British and Brazilian helicopter carrier now informally called _Atlantico Ocean_. Half of her flight deck and almost all of her ground troop support compartments had been converted into means of trying to collect as much information from as many different Colonial craft as they could.

Even Cuba tried to get into the act by letting both China and Russian use their bases as staging areas. What they got out of the deal was known to only a handful of people, and they were not talking. China was able to get a modified AG-600 float plane, a 'Mainstay' like the Y-8 and a KY-2000 on site by the time the Colonial craft was close to the Cuban coast. The Russians were able to get a pair of 'Careless' TU-154s that were normally used for Open Skies Treaty overflights but those were only the latest additions to the island. A single A-100 was on station flying racetracks off the cost of Kennedy Space Center. It would stay there, flying those loops as long as the Colonial craft was on mission for the Americans. She was one of the few aircraft the Russian Federation had in its inventory that had the endurance to do it safely that far from any landing bases that were in friendly hands.

It still took a while for the Raptor to make the trip. They might have been flying at over Mach 3, but it was a very long way to travel. Could the craft had done the trip faster? Oh yes, but Charles had made a point in the mission planning. He did not want to let the locals know what their craft could really do in an atmosphere. If things went sideways, he wanted any enemy to be underestimating what defensive and offensive capabilities the trading outpost might have at any given time. It was human nature to use what they normally saw as the base line, and not the upper limit only seen once. It was a trait that was common to the Colonials as well.

Thanks to a lot of pointers made by Boxey before the mission launched, it did not take long to fill the Raptor with the contracted cargo once it was at The Cape. There was one thing that the ground base at Kennedy did not have a shortage of, and that was willing hands that wanted to get a little closer look at the off planet made craft. Every movement in that area of the base was recorded, and the boxes were loaded as well as a small cargo pod. That pod had been used on the last mission and had not been rebuilt for another run, scrapped, or handed over to a museum. It had just been sitting in storage. It would not be returning on this mission. Once it was empty, it would be cast off and left to burn up on reentry.

The small craft would lift the pod filled with items that could not be exposed to the harsh environment of space even for only an hour despite the cases being rated for it. When the craft was okayed to lift off, it was it was filmed and broadcast live by local and national news teams that counted hundreds of people on the job.

The trip out to the four hundred kilometer altitude that the ISS was currently in only took half an hour for the Colonial craft. That was even with it carrying a load of cargo that heavy inside and outside of the craft. Getting out to low Earth orbit could have been a faster trip, by a lot, but Charles had told the crew of the craft to make sure to give the hitchhikers a view they would remember for the rest of their lives. The crew was also worried about the locally made pod they were carrying under the Raptor's hull. This old Colonial girl had seen some KM's and she was not getting any younger, and the Colonials wanted to keep her around for a long time still.

By the time the hour-long news shows were done for the news cycle, the expanded crew of the Raptor had already filled the first two airlocks of the ISS with packages. And they were waiting for what was the main airlock to the ISS to be empty so that they could load it for a second and final load of supplies to be transferred to the football field long human outpost in space. The pod was already attached to the docking port on the Harmony module. All of this action had been transmitted back to the world and watched by about a billion people live. A few billion more would watch the mission by the end of the day. The shifting was going faster than had been planned for. Many in the NASA control room were stunned silent when they saw the craft's two crew join in and pass loads of cargo along with everyone else.

The news shows eventually went back to their regular programming. Most of the mainstream media control rooms thought that people would grow tired of watching a silent movie of people in green suits moving boxes round with a black background and cut the live transmission five minutes after the Raptor had started moving cargo over. They were wrong, and the web servers for NASA and half a dozen other sites ended up on the brink of crashing due to demand from people on the World Wide Web to see what was going on live. After all the cargo had been transferred back and forth between the Colonial scout craft and the Earth built space station, the mission should have been over. It was not. Not yet. Not by a long shot.

Daniel hated being a truck driver with a deep burning hatred. Unfortunately, he had failed out of the Viper qualification program. Fortunately, he had passed the Raptor part of the program, so he did not have to spend a lot of time figuring out some other kind of job to do. If he had also failed the Raptor flight program, he had planned on trying for an ECO qualification. One dark part of his mind had even thought about being a knuckledragger if all else failed. He would do anything to get him off of one of the civilian ships or pulling weeds on a test farm. Those were fates worse than death for your average twenty year old with good reflexes, a very active brain, and too much energy.

On the positive side, despite his rather spotty past, he had been at least been working a new real world assignment. He had been defending the island against an increasing number of threats from the people living on this planet, even if he had not been allowed to live fire his weapons. He was not doing anything like that on this trip. He had come to know what the locals meant when they say 'bored to tears' ten minutes into this mission. About the only fun he had was when he blew the doors off a pair of MIG-29's flying out of San Antonio de los Banos Airfield. He had picked them up early enough that he could slow down to play with them without blowing his mission timeline. He had given them a close shave by his overflight, and they had given, or more to the point, had attempted to give chase after he had buzzcut them.

The ECO for today was double checking his system to make sure everything was ready to land back at the primitive launch base halfway around the planet from his current home. Daniel was thinking about that overflight and what the Colonel had said about giving his passengers a ride that they would remember for a lifetime. The guys in the back had not been picked up yet, and had not seen his flying skills. He smiled an evil smile that was hidden by his helmet, and with a flick of a finger he activated the intercom built into each Colonial made suit. Now that all of the mail had been delivered, his mission was almost at its end. Almost.

The buzz in their ears let everyone in the craft know someone was about to talk on the built in mic and speaker, and all heads looked up when Daniel started talking. He was speaking in as proper English as he could, but it was still accented.

"How much data storage do you two have left on your stuff back there?" Daniel could not hide the smile in his voice.

Darrel Kelly was one of the only twins still active as astronauts in NASA's service. His brother was thinking about getting out of NASA because he did not think he would be flight qualified for much longer. At least not when his name came back up for a slot of open space time on the ISS. Darrel was more the risktaker of the two, and less of a long term planner. He did a quick check on the cameras and answered the question. He had no idea what the pilot might be thinking, but it was just ingrained into him to answered questions as fast as he could while on mission or in training.

"We have about three hours left on this data drive at this frame rate setting. Why?"

Daniel turned around in his pilot's chair, looked into the main area of the Raptor and smiled. This time everyone in the craft could see the look on his face. The ECO groaned, this was also passed along to the whole crew including the two Americans through the borrowed Colonial fleet helmets. The slight dip of the head set off warning bells for the two locals before the pilot started talking.

"Do you all have people who still don't believe that some of you have walked on Luna's surface?"

When Daniel did not get a quick response from the two passengers, he finished saying what he was planning. "How about we make a quick trip, and you can get some fresh images of one of the landing sites?" The mirth in his voice was audible through the helmet's speakers. The ECO made another groan of mental pain as he considered the instruction to, "Show them something that they will remember for the rest of their lives." That statement was ringing in his own ears like the bells from Hades.

Daniel did not wait any longer for a reply from the two in the cabin section of his craft. Snake quick, he was facing forward again and the massive engines of the back of the Raptor glowed blue-white. The two astronauts in the back could only feel a vague 'something'. Darrel Kelly used his elbow to get the second man's attention. When the face turned to him. A wide-eyed Darrel pointed to the large forward mounted window. The second man had already missed the close shave the ISS's solar panels had just been given by the Colonial craft. Within an eye blink the new target was centered in everyone's field of view. It was the gray-white, round, crater marred moon. And it was getting larger at an alarming rate.

Houston was on line listening in on every word that had been said by the mission crew. They could hear everything, but they were just so stunned that before they could say no to the idea the pilot had offered the Raptor was already passing the thirty-five kilometer line out from Earth that marked geosynchronous orbit. The NASA made equipment would not have had the power to transmit quality data back to Earth from anything above low Earth orbit. At least not without a lot of power above the Van Allen belt.

For this mission, while they were loading the Raptor, a short ranged one way shunt had been added into the Raptors communication systems. This was so the NASA equipment would be using the Raptor's systems to send at least some of the signals back home as proof of life. So, all the way to the moon, and at the blinding speed the Raptor seemed to have, NASA could only stare at the status indicator and make sure this was really happening. The two backseat passengers stayed quiet, and just pointed as many of the cameras as they could forward. They just kept the cameras pointed out the large glass windows at the front of the craft, with as steady hands as they could muster. They were easily focused on the moon that was getting bigger and bigger way too fast in their opinion.

This little maneuver did cause a bit of a splash on the news, but only after it was reported to them from those secondary video feed sites. It quickly became a breaking news story worldwide again. The only station that did not need to do this was the BBC, who had not been caught flatfooted by the recent events unfolding in space.

In less than an hour after leaving the ISS, Daniel pitched the nose of the craft downwards so that the NASA team in the back could get a good look at what had been called Tranquility Base back in 1969. The Raptor had flown so low that they were able to end one debate, at least for most of the sort of closely sane people on the planet. That was whether the American flag stayed standing or not after Armstrong hit their rocket's go fast button. They flew from one end of the landing site to the other at an altitude of only a few hundred meters. The crew in the back could only sit in the back and fight to keep their lips from moving. This was the closest any Earthborn person had been to the moon since December 1972. While the images were recorded on camera, they were seeing a different set of images. They were seeing a future where their names would be in history books.

With a few quick bursts of cold gas jets firing from around the craft in short puffs, the craft was moving again, just slowly. Those jets pushed the nose up and soon it was pointed away from the moon, and the twin big boys were soon blue-white again. They were moving first to a higher orbit, and then back to the nearby life-giving planet. They were back hovering outside a massive NASA hangar only twenty-four minutes and thirty seconds after the Apollo landing site overflight.

The return to Earth had been more on the energetic side. There was very little chance that someone might be able to get too much data from the trip. Daniel made what was referred to as a combat atmosphere re-entry with his Raptor. He was having a great time. The two Americans in the back of the Raptor? Well, they both had been through space shuttle entries, and a few interesting test T-37 approaches in their lifetimes. The Raptor's approach was not that much different, just shorter.

The NASA ground team was buzzing with excitement when the Colonial craft finally landed on the massive expanse of white concrete. Word had already leaked out to the flight line about the suddenly extended mission. The Raptor might have been fast, but it was not faster than radar or rumor. The Raptor had been tracked all the way to the moon and back. A van that looked more like a silver hotdog than a state of the art astronaut transport and life support device pulled up to the low winged and slab-sided craft before the hatch opened. Soon the pair of craft, one wheeled and one winged, was surrounded by white dressed ground crews. The news crews were barred from being that near to the craft that just returned from space. There were lines marked on the concrete where the press was not allowed cross. They had been moved to that line after the craft had taken off. They were just lucky that they were not pushed completely off the flight line when word came down of the lunar flyby.

It was dark at the Cape when the Colonial craft landed but there were so many lights around, both active and turned off. It was so bright in the local area that a person could have used a pair of sunglasses to fight off the glare. NASA had protocols which were very strange to the Colonials who had spent half a decade living and traveling in deep space without much in the way of a break. That did not count that Colonials thought of interstellar space travel about the way the average American thought about flying in an airplane to go on vacation or see the in-laws.

Everyone on the craft was ordered to stay in their space suits until all of the returning cargo had been moved to a second van. That was where most of the outgoing load was going and its loading went very quickly. Most of the returning packages would fit into two basic categories. They were either light and large, or heavy and small. Each was placed in a transport case so no one could see into them. Each one had a tag, but very few people had time to read them just yet.

Mostly the heavy items were broken stuff that was going to be taken apart offsite to see what broke in the first place. It was hoped that this would allow some of them to be redesigned or just be refined some more to last a little bit longer. The smaller packages could be any number of things, but mostly experiments of different types. This time, this grouping also had all of the cameras and data storage devices that the two hitchhikers had used on this trip.

The two NASA astronauts were taken into the closer but smaller hotdog shaped van parked on the white concrete tarmac. This van gave them the privacy to take the borrowed Colonial suits off, saving them from having to strip down to their underclothes on the flightline in public. The NASA team was used to the fact that they were always being recorded. It did no matter what they were doing, so it was not that big of deal for the pair of astronauts if they had to disrobe in public while a mass of cameras covered the event.

Still, this time the recordings were even more intrusive than normal. The only way that NASA could have gotten more information, was if they had one of the two suits to take apart right there on the spot. They learned a lot from all of those recordings, but it was really only enough information to wet the appetite of the NASA suit designers and a few other special skills people.

With the task of getting out of the alien space suits completed, the money was sent to the same public account being used for the returned deposits for the cargo containers. For some very strange reason, very few US government agencies were comfortable using the bartering method as a legal method of payment. It just did not look good in the public news. It was the 21st century, not the 16th and some people in NASA had a problem with change, sometimes.

Time would tell if that would change in the future or not. What they did not know was that they in NASA were being laughed at behind their backs. Many intelligence agencies had had to deal with them in the budgeting process before and NASA had gotten into the habit of always being the one to call the shots. If they did not like it, these other agencies could always try to find another person to launch their satellites. Many groups had enjoyed seeing them get taken down a peg or three.


	34. Chapter 34 trading some paint

I would like to thank Sable Cold for taking on the impressive job of being the Beta Reader for this book. As always reviews are welcome. If you find this is easier to read and fallow. Thank Sable Cold and all of his hard work

I do not own Battlestar Galactica or have any connection with them, other than I have seen the shows. And it was a long time ago. I also do not own or have input into the game of Rifts. I don't even play the game. But I do own copies of some of the books, and I have used them for this story.

 **Chapter 34: Trading Some Paint**

Earth early June 2019

Charles would not be told about the little side trip to the moon until after Daniel landed back at the islands. With the whole island watching the mission, it was only a matter of time until he found out. Right now, he was not too worried about the side trip, and besides a hard glare directed at the returning Raptor pilot, he was not thinking about it, much less doing something about the very minor infraction. He knew that his own words had bitten him in the ass, and he was big enough of a person to know it. That did not mean that one certain pilot was not on his frak with list for the next few months.

He was now working on two different issues that he thought were a lot more important. First on his brain, after giving the Raptor pilot 'the look' again to keep him on his toes, was that the next day after the now approved second side trip would be the first time that one of the submachine guns with two full magazines would be shipping out to their new owners. On that same ship was going to be one of the weaker armor plates also on its way out to its new owners. The plate was just like the ones shown off at the airshow all of those months ago. That was a lot of trade value leaving the island. The most that had been moved off the island in one day in a long time.

They were going as two different lots and they were going to two different countries. The 4 foot by 4 foot armor plate was going to a firm in Germany. This would help them make up some ground on the two Australian firms who had the airshow plates and the American company who had just happened to have someone smart in the deployment area. The last company also had the advantage in that it could turn their ideas into production very quickly.

The submachine gun type weapon was chambered in the same type of round as the pistol. This one was a CPWD M90, and it was going to a weapons manufacturer in Italy. The two companies had worked it out so that they could take care of everything together as one team. The Colonials suspected that it would take those companies years to be able to duplicate both of the items completely but the companies hoped that by working together they could speed things up some.

They were taking note of what their industrial spies had been able to turn up in Utah so far. The pair of EU based companies had even worked together to ship the payments for both lots. It looked like they would be keeping everything together, all the way to the other side of the world. All Charles could do was watch it as it left port.

It had left port only maybe a few hours ago, and it was now out of his hair. Technically it was no longer his responsibility once the cargos were loaded onto the cargo ship and had left the lagoon. That was according to the letter of the law. That did not mean he did not have a feeling that something was about to go wrong.

The other item that Charles wanted to get done was finish working out all of the details with the US Navy. Hardball had been keeping in contact with the pilot she had flown against at the airshow earlier this year. It had been limited to messages and a few phone calls that Charles was not looking too closely at. And one odd patrol where she spent a lot of time talking to one of the local patrolling aircraft. It seemed that not only did he want another shot at beating her in a fly off but so did the whole US military, and it did not matter which service. The US military might good-naturedly fight amongst themselves, but they would turn into a brick wall when someone else challenged one of the other services.

Somehow, between the two of them, they had come up with the crazy idea of a rematch. In a month the _America_ -class ship USS America was going to be coming by the islands for a friendly little wargame between the two powers. He had no idea who or maybe whom had come up with the core idea first. He had a feeling that it might have been given a bit of a push from other groups within the American power structure.

It had taken Hardball some talking to even get him to think about the idea. He had gone from not thinking it was a workable idea, to liking it, all the way back to wondering if he had been drunk when he had agreed the first time. He had been getting two different reads on that group. The elected leader was not wanting to work that closely with his people, but there were a couple of the other power blocks that seemed to almost love the idea of dealing with the Colonials. It was almost as confusing as when he read about the pre-unification Colonies back in school.

Some called the USS America a baby carrier but she was listed as an amphibious assault ship on all of the military focused web pages. Unlike most ships that carried that title on this planet though, she did not have a well deck to launch smaller surface craft that make the final dash to a beach with heavy tanks and ground troops. She was a pure aviation support ship, used to cover the seaborne troops coming off of other ships to take the beach. She also would take any other mission that did not call for a hundred thousand ton aircraft carrier and her supporting fleet of a dozen other warships.

The USS America was smaller than some of the huge carriers that roamed the seas of this planet today. Four other local powers operated larger ships. She was almost the size of a late 1940's attack aviation ship. Just like the ones that had won the last major war fought in this part of world. So she was small, but only from a political point of view. And as long as she was not being looked at from her waterline to the top of her bridge. Then, well she looks pretty damn big from that point of view.

The US Navy would have loved to send one of their big Nimitz or Ford class ships to make a port call on these islands. Those huge ships were so valuable though, that they never traveled alone. And the Chinese and Russians both were starting to cause a lot of problems, and not only near the Colonial islands. They were saber rattling in other areas of the world and this was pulling the attention of the last superpower. Those assets were needed closer to those other hot points around the planet.

Putting an American carrier battle group off the Colonial islands for a wargame and maybe sending selected ships in for a port visit would have been like adding a flamethrower to a pile of leaves covered in jet fuel on the world stage. So that was where the idea of sending the smaller ship came into play. It also was carrying a lot fewer planes, so it was settled on as an acceptable risk by the Pentagon. She would not be going alone ether. She would come with two other warships as escorts and a single supply and support ship to round out the mix of vessels carrying the US flag.

The whole fleet all would stay outside the 20 nautical mile limit set by the Colonials but some smaller groups would be allowed to make a port call on the island. The large flat topped ship would not be carrying a marine landing force on this trip either. Their areas would be filled with extra support and testing equipment and who knows what else. This was mostly supposed to be going to the support of the dozen F-35's of various models.

Some of the fighters were production models, but most were prototypes or test vehicles of one kind or the other. She also would be carrying three MV-22 Ospreys to act in various support roles that the fleet might need fulfilled including carry any personnel that might be allowed to land on the island. Charles and his staff were trying to keep things simple as they could, and the different types of moving parts were being limited as much as possible.

* * *

Charles was talking on the phone with an American Admiral working on the gross details for the upcoming wargame. This was already the fourth phone conversation done at this level. They had to do this one last coordination call before each commander handed the project off to their staffs to finish the detail work. Charles was so looking forward to getting this first wargame over. It had taken a lot more work to get done than it had taken to have the Aussies and Kiwis make a stopover. Charles was thinking about maybe asking about a fourth visit from the Aussies. Boxey and his team had picked up on a few carefully worded emails saying they were interested but did not know what the best way was to bring it up to the Colonials.

It was during Charles' woolgathering that it happened. The maritime radio, one that had been set up a few weeks ago, went off. It had started blaring and filling both his office and the command center with voices and static at an impressive volume. The radio had been put in at a pointed suggestion by the Tahiti harbormaster. It was supposed to prevent surprises like the ancient LST showing up past the 20 mile limit from happening again. More to the point, at least it would lower the chance of an explosive misunderstanding when those events happened again. After the rust bucket had broken down the second time, it had proven to be a worthwhile improvement over the short ranged radio they had been using on the islands.

Soon everyone could make out what was coming through the speakers. Charles froze as his mind processed the words, and he had to fight back images that had not taken place anywhere close to this star system.

"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday! Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan, Pan-Pan! This is West Pac Express, we have been rammed! And we are taking on water!"

Charles could tell that the person on the other end of the radio line was on the verge of freaking the frak out. He had heard that tone hundreds and hundreds of times on that day the Cylons returned to Colonial space. Charles was now only half listening to the person on the other end of the phone. As he fought back images of ships exploding and people being blown out into space, he could feel the sweat starting to form on his forehead.

Charles went to full combat mode as he blinked the last image away from his eyes. It took the strong voice coming directly into his ears to break that trance. "I'm sorry, Colonel. My staff just let me know that we are picking up a distress call on all the maritime frequencies. Are you receiving them?" The American was keeping his voice level.

That was the American Navy Admiral, sitting in his command post somewhere in the Hawaii islands chain and still on the phone with Charles. Charles, not for the first time, had a particular word come to his mind. One that he could only have gotten from the dictionary that Doctor Drake White was sending out updates to every few days to help Colonials and locals communicate. It was a word that was marked as one not to be used in certain circles.

Now Charles was ready to come back to the real world. "Admiral, we are picking up the same alert, and we know her. She is one of the ships we use to transport goods. I am going to have to let you go and see what's going on. How about our staffs work on this for a bit more before we talk again? I think we have hammered out the major points already?" Charles said, watching through the separating glass wall as his staff hit high gear on the other side of the room. The Colonel was already out of his office chair.

"Do what you need to do, Colonel. If you need any help, please feel free to ask. We will be checking out what is going on with our own sources." The phone line went dead on the way to the cradle without Charles noticing.

He was out of office without noticing he was moving. As Charles walked over to the plotting board that was mounted on a roll around carriage, it started to vibrate. Then the whole room shook as a Raptor with its waiting crew went from a hover to supersonic in about 25 meters. Charles had just enough time to see through the large windows facing the landing pad that it was a fully armed Assault Raptor and not one of the transport designated craft. There now were enough Raptors calling the islands home that not all of them were fitted out as gunships at all times. A few were also filling the personnel transport role without having to take the weapons rigs off just so it could carry passengers.

It was just like they had been doing in the fleet since that fateful day. Charles was hoping that it was not a foreshadowing of what the next few days were going to bring. He could see that his staff and the ground crews were already working on getting a second gunship ready to launch. A troopship was already being loaded up with an on-call ground combat team. Charles could not shake off a bad feeling that this was only the first step of a bigger game.

* * *

It took only a few minutes for the Raptor to make it to the location of the still frantically calling ship and report back what it was seeing on the water below it. One of the Rifter Earth people had added a little bit of different tech to the overall Raptor operation a few years ago. Anything that the pilot saw and a small ball mounted camera could pick up was transmitted back to the islands' CIC on its own special frequency. It was a short range setup that had not worked that well out in space. Inside a few hundred square kilometers of Colonial territory though, it was a very helpful command and control device. That is, if a commander could fight the urge to micromanage. It had turned into a training aid used to cover both issues back in the training rooms of the flagship.

What they saw was the West Pac Express just coming back into the 20 nautical mile limit where warships were not allowed to cross. At least they were not supposed to cross that line without letting someone on the Colonial islands know first. She was being trailed by a large warship off of her stern. There was a reason that the West Pac Express was the basis for the design called a joint high-speed vessel. She was not your every day banana hauler.

She was giving it all she could, and she had the bone set deep into her teeth. The little cargo ship was trying to make it to the nearest lagoon entrance with everything she had under the hood and maybe a little more. The haze of the engine exhaust was distinct even on the visible light device. The bad part was that she was being chased by a real greyhound of the sea, and that warship had not started life as a simple cargo ship. She was built for speed and war.

Charles knew the maritime laws of this planet. He could not do or support anything even with a mayday call. Not until the West Pac was within the 20 nautical mile limit of their publicly claimed territory. If anyone took actions against his people in the Raptor then all bets were off. Until then how could he protect the cargo ship and her cargo without breaking the law?

This was going to be an action that was going to be anything but done quietly. He bet it was going to come out before his people had all of the facts. He needed to walk a fine line. That cargo ship had made so many runs to the islands and it truly was very important to his command. It also was a lifeline to the entire Colonial fleet. Charles needed to protect that lifeline.

The rest of the staff did not notice the slightly evil smile that crossed his face as Charles worked out what he was about to order his people to do. They did notice when he activated a communications line to the Raptor. One that the Earthers would not be able to detect and could not intercept. It was a pure Colonial made device.

"Raptor 414, this is Rock Actual. You cannot fire onto that warship until it crosses the line or it fires on you first. I want you to make a very high speed pass between the warship and the cargo ship. Give them a haircut and make them think you really are Starbuck." Charles was hoping that the last line would not overwrite his first set of orders.

A voice came back into the command center. "This is Raptor 414. Giving them a haircut. Will see if they get the message that they are not wanted here."

Charles was now glad Daniel was recovering from helping with the second NASA supply mission to ISS and not behind the controls of an armed craft that had been on ready alert. He would have taken those orders and traded some paint with whatever warship was harassing the West Pac. Charles looked around the command center and he could see that his staff was still trying to raise the sleek warship on the Earther made marine radios.

The Raptor was already on its second pass between the two ships, and it seemed that the warship was still on its game. Charles could only imagine what the sonic boom was like from each very low pass. Being within a hundred meters or so from a craft moving at over 3500 kilometers an hour was... earth shaking. There was a technique that let a pilot 'aim' a sonic boom, but was not an option with the geometry of this event.

Still the warship pursued the smaller cargo ship and was getting closer and closer to the lagoon. The West Pac announced that they had crossed the 20 nautical mile line about thirty meters before she really had, and the grey warship was still coming after them. The Express was not slowing down, even after calling out to the whole world that they were in someone else's claimed waters.

That was when the warship did something dumb. In fact, the chasing warship did what had to be about the dumbest two things that it could have done. The charging warship was not flying any nation's flags but just before she crossed the 20 nautical mile line herself, she fired her forward mounted cannon toward the still fleeing cargo ship. It was a warning shot, and one that overflew the cargo ship that was tearing up the deep blue water with her massive pump jets.

The 31kg shell made a nice blue and white splash about one hundred meters in front and off to one side of the fleeing unarmed and very unarmored cargo ship. The shell only cleared the bridge of the small cargo vessel by a few meters as it went by. It was a very close shave and the water spout was every inch of sixty feet tall when the high explosive round detonated below the wave topped surface.

There is an old saying in the Colonial fleet. It was so old that it predated the first Battlestars. "It does not matter so much where the bullet starts. It matters more were the bullet impacts." That 130mm shell landed well inside Colonial claimed territory, and the warship was still coming. That was strike two and three all within a heartbeat of each other.

Charles heard the explosion on the radio right in the middle of a transmission from the West Pac Express. For a second, he thought that the warship had fired into the cargo ship. He was stunned at the sudden turn of events. Charles was staring at the radio and before his head made a turn to see the images coming into the command center the voice of the captain of the West Pac came over the air having taken the mic from the current radio operator. The voice was very steady, like from someone who had done this kind of thing before.

"Any station this net. Any station this net. We are being fired on by a PLAN destroyer. He is demanding we stop for boarding and inspection. I will not let my ship be boarded in international waters. The warship has been buzzed, twice, by a Colonial craft and she still is coming up my wake at speed. She has now fired a warning shot close to my ship."

The voice was so calm that it reminded Charles of the Old Man as he went through the statement again. The voice sounded pissed more than scared to Charles's ears. It had the sound of a man who wanted to shoot back but did not have the wherewithal to do so. It was the sound of a pro who was wishing this had been a level playing field.

Charles mimicked a pistol shape with his hand and made like the imaginary weapon recoiled in his hands. The duty officer saw the motion from across the room and nodded in understanding at the orders he had just been given. He reached down, picked up the Colonial transmitter and spoke into the device. No one in the center saw or heard what was said but it did not take long for the results to be heard loud and clear all over the world.

Two things happened very close together and both would be debated on which one had the most effect on the real world. One was what everyone was calling the Big Voice becoming active on the islands. In Colonial and in straight English the islands wide public address system started telling everyone an attack was imminent and that it was not a drill. All combat personnel were to draw weapons, and report to the nearest defensive point. It was like any movie that even slightly referenced the attack on the American base at Pearl Harbor. It also just happened to be a lot like the alerts that went out during the Cylon surprise attack. To the Colonials, this was not a reference point that a sane person would have ever wanted to happen.

* * *

While that was going on the island. The Raptor's pilot had just completed its third buzz of the grey-white warship. That was when he saw the splash of the shot across the bow of the West Pac Express detonate in the water. He was pissed, and he applied more power to the massive aft mounted engines without really thinking about what he was doing. In just a few seconds, the Raptor had climbed and looped over to start the next line up for a fourth run. The pilot went into what most would have called a hammerhead stall before dropping in altitude and heading for the wave tops. The pilot just called the maneuver, 'getting ready to frak someone up' when he was going through the post flight debrief for the official record.

As the Raptor dropped out of the sky the pilot cut power to the engines down to just a trickle and let gravity do its job. He did not want to close too fast on his target. He was thinking that almost Mach 4.5 was good enough for him. He could have fired into the warship but it was still outside of Colonial claimed waters according to his sensors. That limited the actions he felt was open to him, at least open to him without approval from higher command. Then he had an idea.

The message the ECO passed to him as he guided his falling craft brought a smile to his face as the words came through his helmet mounted speakers. He could now fire into the warship if he felt that it was needed to protect the cargo ship. The look was more of a shark's grin than it was a true smile.

The pilot lined up where he wanted to hit with his targeting reticle. When he felt that the timing was right, he pulled the stick mounted trigger to the second detent with just the right amount of pressure. Then his craft did the rest as a single pair of rockets raced through the thickening air from his Raptor. The twin rockets left only a slight haze from their burning motors. The flames coming out from behind the pair of rockets were so blue that they were hard to see from a few feet away. Even when they were further out from the Raptor, they were only visible on sensors.

This Raptor was not armed with the more powerful weapons that filled the lockers of the Colonial Fleet or with what had become available to both the Colonials and Rift Earthers. It was armed with the older types of weapons the Colonial Fleet still had in stock from when the Cylons attacked. Those weapons might have been older than the target they were being fired at. They also were older than the crew of the Raptor that had fired them. That did not mean that they would not be very effective weapons.

The pair of rockets left from the wing mounted pods. If he had pulled the trigger to the third detent or all the way to the stops, all of the rockets and a full three second cannon burst would have left the still falling Raptor. For this though, he deemed two to be enough. All that firepower hit the water about sixty meters in front of the knife shaped bow of the waterborne warship. The Raptor pilot had thought about firing into the warship, but then thought that firing his own warning shot would keep him from having to kill more humans.

That short burst let out an amount of firepower would have been noticed by a Cylon Basestar hybrid but only as a single bug bite to an average sized dog. It would have been almost enough to take out a seventy-five ton Cylon Heavy Raider but not enough to guarantee a kill. It would have taken out a Raider or other like sized craft, no problem.

It would not have taken it out of the battle, but a Cylon capital ship would have lost some armor if the pair of missiles had hit it. So what it did to the choppy waves in front of the warship was nothing short of amazing for the Earth born humans to see. And it was seen by a few hundred different people, from a dozen different countries all at the same time. More to the point, it was recorded by all of those different planes, ships, and satellites that happened to be in the local area. Even a few different sites around the world got to see it in real time or close enough to real time to really not make that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.

The warship had wanted to put on a show of force to make the small cargo ship stop. Now the 7,500 ton and five year old warship knew what a real show of force was. The single High Explosive round from the H/pJ-45A 130mm dual purpose cannon had made a big water volcano. Anyone watching on or near the cargo ship would be very impressed with the eruption of water from that one explosive filled shell.

What the Raptor did with a pair of small rockets was to simply and obscenely easily blast a water wall just in front of the charging warship. It looked like something right out of a cartoon from hell. The water curtain was over three hundred feet tall from wave top to the top of the now grey-white water. It was so tall in fact, that the stern of the warship was hit by part of the falling wall of ocean water after the energy used to lift the water had equalized with gravity.

The captain of the Chinese warship had no idea what had happened. It would not matter even if he had known what had just happened to him and his ship. He could not see what was behind the water curtain, or more to the point, he could not see what was now not behind the falling white and blue water curtain. The rising and falling water had also effectively jammed the ship mounted H/LJQ-346 low and surface search radar. The H/LJG 346 active phased array? All it was showing was a solid object in front of them. The Dragon eye had just been blinded.

Even the much-publicized H/LJQ 517B anti-stealth radar was no longer effective and could not warn the crew what was about to happen to them and the ship they rode in. Maybe if they had a weather radar like what was used to track tornadoes.

That might have helped them see what was going on to their front. Then again, maybe not. So the 157 meter long warship did not slow down even a little as it continued on to chase the fleeing cargo ship. Then the warship more or less... fell.

The Raptor had blown a hole in the water with its own version of giving them a shot across the bow. A half-moon shaped crater was still in the ocean after the weapons had gone into unfriendly mode. The massive crater was just starting to fill back in, fast, after the shock waves had dissipated into the local area. When the destroyer punched through the still falling gray-blue water, it fell almost thirty feet into the bottom of the scooped out ocean water bowl. That is about the same height as a three story office building.

The metal hulled ship did not like the fall one bit. The thin metal of her hull started to bend as the ship lost support for that part of her hull. The bend grew more pronounced as the water supported less and less of the ship as it went forward into the open air. Then the worst thing that could happened short of heavy weapons fire did happen. The lowered bow of the ship slammed into a solid wall of water that was concrete hard, and was not compressible in the first place.

That wall was the other side of the rapidly filling water crater and it was well below the current sea level. Over 7,000 tons of warship moving at thirty and a half knots hit that moving blue wall and stopped with a bone and metal crushing crash.

The ship was not built with crumple zones to dissipate the impact energy. Taking water over the bow is called 'green water', and the ship had been designed to handle some of that. This was way outside what she had been designed to handle.

There were four problems that caused the damage to the warship. One was that part of the hull did not have any water under it for a length of time, second was the fall, third was the impact against the wall of water, and the last was the speed that the events happened at.

The bulbous bow served two functions for the ship. One was to hold the massive H/SJD-9 sonar, and the other was for cutting the drag caused by the ship as it moved through the water at high speed. It also had a slight design flaw. When the warship hit the wall of water, it stressed the slightly bent down knife-like bow of the warship at an odd angle. That was not a good thing, and would not have been great even if the other events had not already happened.

The ship did not like that kind of stress one bit and she let it show very quickly to the rest of the world. The bow from around sixth frame just behind the bottom mounted sonar bent off to one side. Then it bent some more with the help of the on-rushing ocean water trying to fill the hole that had been blown into it. The sound of stressed metal sounded throughout the ship like the shriek of a slowly dying woman.

Every crew member on the ship would for years later say that the ship had cried out in physical pain. They would have to make sure that certain members of the government were not around when they told someone this story. That was for fear of being punished, again, by the intelligence agencies of their parent country. That is unless they had a lot to drink. Then they would just shudder as they remembered the sounds whenever they told the story to anyone who would buy them more drinks. Drinks the storyteller would hope to use to chase the dreams away at least for a night, or even a few hours of a night.

A full 7 meters behind the hull mounted sonar but still in front of the 130mm gun turret, the weakened frame gave way under the harsh and abrupt punishment it had just been subjected to. When the ship finally shed the green water off its nose, she did not look like a ship of war anymore. She now looked more like a very old or bad boxer. One who had seen a few to many rounds in the boxing ring and with his nose bent off to one side and folded back flat onto his face.

The Raptor did not have its systems looking that way, so it missed the truly amazing image of what happened to the chasing warship. It was not like anyone had done something like this before. Three nearby aircraft were a lot luckier with how their recording devices were pointed. The mayday had given them enough time to get closer to the action, or at least have their sensors pointed the right way when things went... sideways... in the most colossal way.

Every other ship and airplane that was anywhere close to being in the local area was making their best speed to get to the scene of the action. This was not an altercation with a fishing or pleasure craft. It was an altercation with one of the most advanced ships of its class in the world.

The Raptor had to pull up out of its dive. By the time it had shed enough speed to maintain control and return to the target area the warship was already dead in the water. The front of the ship was already down slightly, with water folded over the bow area of the ship. That is with the bow now pointed aft, folded along the port side of the ship and a few meters thinner. The waves were looking to be already at the base of the forward mounted 130mm cannon and turret. If they had been a lot closer or had very good optics, the crew would be able to see that the waves were still moving towards the bridge of the ship.

The crew, at least the ones that were still on their feet, were doing their best to keep the warship afloat. They had one thing working for them, well two actually. One was that the ship had been ready for the surprise actions of 'dealing with a pirate'. They had already been at battle stations with all of the water proof doors and hatches that the warship had been built with locked down. That had been more due to habit than an expected need to control flooding or other battle damage that might threaten the ship in the coming altercation.

Who had the best images of the aftermath? They would come from the aft pointing camera on the cargo ship. Very few people knew about those devices until after today's events.

How did it get those images? It was because the cargo ship running for its life had a 300x power zoom HD day or night video camera made by Sony hard mounted at its aft, and it had just earned every penny of the cost and upkeep. Three of the still images pulled from the device would be in the running for the photo of the year.

When the Raptor did get pointed at the target again, it was pretty clear that the one-time greyhound of the sea was no longer a threat to anyone for now, or for the near future except maybe to her crew. So the Colonial combat craft left her alone. They kept an eye on it just in case they needed to do something more permanent to the warship. The Raptor's crew was more than willing to blow the combat vessel apart, but that had not been in the orders. Well, it was not in the orders yet. There was a lot of leeway when you are told to show someone 'some firepower'.

* * *

Charles made a mental note to make sure he gave clearer plans and directions next time. He had wanted that ship blown in half. He would not tell anyone that in any briefings or interviews that would follow. It just worked out that the Colonials might have slowed a landslide, with 'some firepower'.

About a minute later, a second armed Raptor joined the first craft in the local area. Not long after that, a third Raptor was there. This one was filled with an armed and armored ground team on board. What they could not see were the four Vipers now circling 40,000 feet over their heads. They were waiting to see if this might have been a diversion for a larger attack. Those seven Colonial craft were being watched by every ship and aircraft in the not so local area. Many of those crews had secret fears that they might be next, just because they were in the same general vicinity as the warship that had just...crashed.

Charles grabbed for the radio handle and pressed the bottom. He could not see the ship due to the camera being pointed in the wrong direction. That did not stop the sound from coming over the active radio transmission from the cargo ship. His hands stopped when the images came back and the command center could view what was going on again. It was a very impressive video that they were watching. When it seemed like the small cargo ship was out of danger, he used the shorter ranged radio.

"West Pac Express. This is the Trading Post. What happened out there?" He was thinking that he might know what, but not the why or the how.

The voice that came back was the same strong and sure voice. "Trading Post. This is West Pac Actual. We were bumped, and we are taking on water faster than our pumps can dump it. We need to put into dock, or we might lose the ship."

Charles was thinking about what just happened and what the information in his command center was telling him. "Captain Beattie. You have a nest open with us. Just bring your bent bird in. Can you give me some more information about what happened? We need to know if this it or if there's a second attack on the way."

Stephen knew the voice on the other end of his radio was the Colonial Colonel and the Trading post's commanding officer even if he did not identify himself that way on an unencrypted radio transmission. He did raise some valid points with his questions. He also knew that the Colonials did not have to let them return to their territorial waters, much less alert launch a defense force, and let him dock his broken ship in their harbor. Those were all nice to have, but it was not required by any form of law. There was 'The Law of the Sea,' but did the Colonials know about that one?

"We were not that far outside your 20 nautical mile limit. I had just received payment for shipping the cargos we had dropped off to you. We were a little distracted and a Panamax cargo ship with COSCO on the side somehow came close. I don't think she was flying any flag, I will have to check the videos to see if there was one that I missed. I know the ship had Heng Shan Hail painted on her bow. She just brushed us aside like we were a cork in a stream. No transmissions before or after the impact, and they just kept going on their merry way. Then we were hailed by the warship. She must have been hiding in the radar shadow of the larger cargo ship. She just came out of nowhere demanding that we heave to and let boarders do a safety and environmental inspection on us."

Stephen stopped talking for a few seconds. "I did not wait to get the first report on the flooding before I decided to head to the nearest port. I went through something like that off of Haiti a few years back. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, then shame on me." He let a slight chuckle leave his mouth after saying that old saw.

Charles had to fight not to laugh. "Okay Captain, bring her in. You know where to park, and what the water's like around it. Do what you need to do, Captain. I will have a team on the pier ready to give any help that they can." He put the mic down and looked around his CIC. He gave a few more orders to his staff and then spent some time trying to work out what he might have to do next. He did not say what the Colonials would be doing while the damaged ship made its way to a safe harbor.

A few minutes later the first Assault Raptor arrived to fly parallel to the racing cargo ship. She stayed there all the way back to the two mile mark outside the lagoon's reef. The West Pac slowed down just a little at the point she picked up her low flying escort. The power rating went from the level of 'about to blow up,' down to a more sedate output about the level of 'will need major overhaul if you keep this shit up.' Her captain did not lower the power level any more. Not until he saw the waves breaking on the reef that went around the two islands. Then he lowered the power setting to a more normal level. He could not lower it too much, or the pumps would lose efficiency.

He had re-plotted the shortest time course so that the ship could get to the loading pier. The ship needed to be tied up to the stone and dirt pier as quickly as she could be. The CIA did not just give commands of one of their ships to anyone. He had been recruited for many different reasons. The main one was that he was a very talented small ship's master. He needed to find out how much damage his command had received from the Chinese warship and the contact with the Panamax sized ship.

He was already working on his report in his head while he took care of his ship. He knew off the top of his head that he would have to write two of them. One of those reports would be for public release and the insurance claim that would have to be filed to keep the ship's cover story. The other one would have to be filed back in the CIA's main office. It would be very much classified for at least a few decades to come.

Captain Beattie did not know if he was going to have a job after that one report was read or not. Unfortunately, keeping his job was the least of his worries right now, and that would be the same for the next few hours to the next few days. He could already feel his ship starting to list to one side without needing to see the digital indicator to confirm. He knew that he was in for a long few days, weeks, and maybe months. Oh, the joys of being on a sinking ship going into an austere port.

* * *

Drake had been working in the old restaurant for the last few days but it was not related to the job that the zoo was paying him to do in any direct way. He still was alone, his new title only used in official correspondence. There had been many delays for any additional academic teams coming out his way. Drake had no idea why and he had not asked for any more details. He was so not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.

For the last few days, he had been helping out the family who had taken over this building of their own accord and were now running the restaurant business. Currently, they were trying to add some new items to the limited menu they had been serving to both the locals and Colonials that stopped by.

When Drake pulled out the cookbook and started thumbing through it one night while eating his very nice meal, it drew as much attention as he thought it might. It did not take long for a deal to be struck. It seemed to have happened almost at light speed. He would not only let them copy the cookbook, but he would walk them through cooking each meal that the pages held. They had access to literally tens of thousands of recipes on the web, but there was not one book on 'how' to cook those dishes. They also would keep the original cookbook until he had gone over the agreed upon meals. This would let them practice the different dishes when he was not around. Finally, no one else could have access to the book, protecting their market.

The payment he was going to receive for the cookbook and the help was going to be in two parts. One part was that he would get a free meal, whatever he ended up cooking with them. The other part of the payment was that they would help him get a breeding pair of chickens. Ones that were still on the Colonial ships or off planet and had not touched this planet yet. That news had gone over very well back at the zoo. From what Drake was told, they were about to break ground on a whole new section of the zoo. One that would deal with off planet flora and fauna.

Today's meal was from the twelfth page of the cookbook. Everything was going pretty well. He was not that bad in the kitchen. That is, until he about jumped out of his skin when speakers started going off all around him. He never realized they were there until they started blaring at volume. That volume setting should have made everyone's ears bleed within half a mile of the well camouflaged speakers.

He had no idea what they were saying at first, then his ears started to make sense of the noise even before it switched to English only. The Colonial controlled islands might be under a major attack. Drake had no idea what he should do so he just stood in place even after he got his mind wrapped around what might be happening. His first clear thought was to make a run for his 8x8 amphibian and make tracks back to his hut. What stopped him was that he remembered that all he had was a .45, and it was currently on his hip. If someone was attacking the islands, a .45 was not going to do him much good all alone. It was better than nothing, but he knew a pistol was only good until he could get a rifle.

The six other people in the ocean facing bar had other ideas. They quickly started shutting down anything that might explode if it was treated badly by hostile intent. He heard other people coming into the main area of the restaurant at a run from outside. Then what sounded like metal being slammed around started coming from the main room of the building.

Drake took a few a quick breaths and then left the kitchen to enter the main dining and drinking area. What he saw were people still running in through the doors from outside. There were also others working with metal shutters that were being hooked into the wall slots in the window frames. Slots that seemed to have been made for metal plates to fit in the first place. As soon as the windows were almost all covered by metal plates of some kind, some other people went to do different tasks.

While Drake was watching, he saw people in ones and twos approaching a part of the wall. Drake could not tell what they were doing. When he walked over to the area he found out that it was a hidden locker, and they were pulling out what looked like weapons and body armor. The warfighting items quickly started to flow out like something from Pandora's Box. This was not just a place to eat, it was a defensive and supply point. When no one had been looking, the inner wall had been removed and an armored layer had been added along with places to store weapons and armor.

Drake was not given anything that was flowing out of the small compartments. Actually, he noticed that more than one of the Colonials in the room were looking at him like he might be a threat. He could feel the threat level rising in the room, and a good part of it was being directed his way. Drake slowly walked away from the once hidden arms locker. He slowly made his way to one end of the restaurant. He knew that people under stress of an attack sometimes did not act rationally. They could and would lash out at anyone. He just sat at the bar and watched the people and their strange weapons take up positions around the building. His military experience soon told him that this place may well be a key defensive position for the Colonials. In his mind's eye, he was seeing the outside. Now it made sense that a few of the nearby buildings had fallen down. They had clear firing lanes with those obstructions removed.

* * *

Ruth, Mell and a small group of their people were doing an interview with a pair of Colonials away from the restaurant. The pair was a husband and wife team who were working on repairing and returning a boat to service. It was one of the boats left behind by the previous residents. As it turned out, it was their second such project since they began living on this island. It was by far the larger of the two boats they had worked on. They had sold the first one to a second couple who now used it for fishing in the deeper waters of the lagoon in their off time.

From the sidelines of the interview, Ruth could tell that the couple was mentally broken. Ruth had seen people who had seen too much blood and death before and these two people were classic examples of what she had seen all the world over. They were just wrapping up what Ruth was already marking down as maybe B roll material at best when the island wide public address system started to blare.

Ruth did not have to know what was being said by the booming mechanical voice. She had been in enough combat situations to feel it coming. She had grown up in a small Israeli town, and that was a sense that most of them developed before their teenage years started. She had been on the receiving end of so many rocket attacks in a year that she could not honestly tell how many she had lived through.

Ruth was pulling her people up and trying to get them moving before any of the others realized that danger was near. She had started doing this even before her own mind could tell her what the danger was. It was just a mother bear kind of reaction. When she took the time to start looking around the general area, she saw that the boat working couple was running with everything they owned held in their hands. It seemed that they were running towards the main pier about 150 meters away. That did not seem to be the best place to run to if the islands were under attack. Still, Ruth knew that survivors most of the time knew where the safest places were.

Ruth had at first thought to get herself and her people back to their assigned building. Now that she was thinking and looking around, the locals themselves were heading somewhere else instead of their homes. Wherever that was, it might be a better location to wait out this coming storm, so she started pushing her people that way as well. Soon they were only a dozen steps behind the running crazy couple. It was like herding two legged ADHD cats wired up on catnip and having their shock collars activated at random intervals, but Ruth had dealt with this type of herding before. So at least she knew what she was getting into, even if it did not make the job easier.

The building the locals led them to was at the end of the pier, but it had a foundation on land. Well, it seemed to be one of the shelters the Big Voice told everyone to head towards. Ruth was able to get her team through the door all in one push before any of the Colonials could object to her and them being in the building with them. Ruth could see that this was a well drilled outfit, no matter if most were not combat arms by official training that she could tell. She could tell that each person had a job, and as soon as it was done the person would either started a new one or help someone else finish theirs.

She also knew something about weapons and what she was seeing, they were not normal weapons. They did not even much look like the weapons being put up for auction on the internet. Those looked like weapons. What was being passed around looked different. Lethal, but still just a bit different. While she was watching the locals break out weapons and take up positions around the three room building, one of the military officers she had seen before was communicating with someone else on an odd type of helmet mounted communication device. To her it kind of looked like a radio, but it was almost hair thin. Ruth was watching him for clues about what was going on outside of the building. If things went south, she was already looking at ways to get her people out of this building and down the road to at least test the metal walled transmission van near the BBC news building. That was the only bunker or shelter worth thinking about that the BBC had taken the time to set up.

When the officer seemed to relax some, Ruth thought things might just turn out okay for all of the people living on the island. When he turned around to the mixed group in the small and now dark building, he looked like he had something to say to all of them. He first looked at Ruth and her flock still gathered around her. Again, it was a mother bear thing and her people knew who to go to for protection, even if it was on a subconscious level.

The officer made a sour face and spoke in that Greek and Latin hybrid sounding language she had come to recognize as Caprican before switching to mostly English with a mix of something else. "It seems that the Chinese tried to force the West Pac to heave to on the open seas. They might have been looking to take the cargo we auctioned off and shipped out earlier today. When the West Pac refused to play along, it seemed things got ugly real fast. A Raptor was rushed to help them out. They called for help, which the whole frakking planet must have heard."

The Colonial started to laugh as he told the story for the second time. "Now it seems that the Chinese warship, she does not want to follow the West Pac any more. The Colonel does not know if this is the beginning of something or what. So we will stay armed and armored for the time being. The West Pac is damaged and on her way back to us. We are the closest port to where this all went down. I am going to need some help getting the cargo ship tied up to the pier. Like I said, she took some damage but we don't know how badly she is hurt yet. She reported that she was taking on enough water that her pumps that are not keeping up with the flooding. They think they should be able to make it to the pier, but they might not." The military commander did a little tilting of his head that Ruth had no problem understanding the meaning of.

While Ruth was taking cover in the safe building on the pier, she had no idea what her support crew back at their building had been up to. They had been getting ready to power down the generators and other equipment they had been using to rebroadcast the latest events at the Cape and the ISS. When the Big Voice started up in their area the office staff team had just received a message from a push to talk radio carried by a second group. They had been getting some more B roll farther south on the island and had also heard the announcement. The BBC team's situation was still chaotic, at best.

The second group of BBC reporters had no idea what was going on and were sticking with a group of Colonials they had been filming. They also said the locals looked to be getting ready for war or at least a massive drill.

Drew Green was trying to figure out what to do while he sat in the converted home. He was the backup news anchor, and the fourth in the chain of command of the newest station of the BBC, but he also was the main sound guy. The PA system was done trying to wake the dead but he still did not know what to do. Then he thought what would Mell or Ruth do right then. His eyes shot open and he started to order people around the converted house. It took some doing, but he got the rest of the team moving in the direction that he needed them to.

He knew exactly what she would have done. The first thing he did, was to order the C band dish put back up. Then he started setting up for a live update broadcast. While the crew was setting up for the shot, he went into the main part of the house and sent a Breaking News warning to the main network on the new sat phone.

It did not take long for that short message to have an effect. All over the world, within a few seconds, his notice was on each and every news station on the air. His words were in big red banners flashing in half a hundred different languages with his warning notice. Now the whole world knew that something was happening on the Colonial controlled islands. It was not at the speed of light, but it was amazingly fast enough.

In three minutes Drew was doing a live shot with palm trees blowing in the background, recounting what had happened as far as he knew it. It was during that broadcast that the PA system chose the exact same time to start a second cycle of alerts to the whole island. It was so loud that Drew could not talk over it on his live broadcast. It did get the point across to those watching his live broadcast that something had happened and that the Colonials were not taking any chances.

Drew only needed a few more words to get across to the public that the Colonials were preparing for the worst. The Colonial announcement had become the most heard public address in history. Drew did not have anything else to add to his broadcast and cut the line with a promise to keep the world updated. Drew did not know it, but his quick thinking just guaranteed his employment for another year no matter what he might or might not do for the rest of the contract.

Ruth had her crew on the pier and set up for a shot as soon as the shelter had emptied its people back on to the pier. Once they all were in place, she was able to contact the crew back at the station with the team's radio. The one that she had forgotten all about in the excitement of having her ear drums nearly blown out. With communication now restored between the boss and the office, she was able to find out that everyone under her control was okay, including the secondary filming crew on the other side of the island.

Drew told her what happened on his end. Ruth was very pleased at what they had done to get the breaking news story out to the rest of the world. Ruth wanted to give an update with what she had found out and it did not take long for the support staff back at the van to rig up their systems to receive a data feed from her forward deployed camera. The van could then pitch it up to a satellite flying overhead. From the satellite, it would be sent to the downlink hub for the network in London. Then it would be up to the network's main office to decide what to do with her report. She thought that they would at least put it on the scheduled news rotation. Now all she had to do was wait for the star of the show to make it on set.

Everything was close enough to be ready for the transmission when the damaged cargo ship cleared the point of land protecting the small cove that the pier was built in. The West Pac was not moving as fast as she was reported to have been moving in open water but she was still moving way too fast for normal safe lagoon traffic. She was breaking the 'no wake rule' big time. Ruth had her crew start recording and transmitting the images as soon as they saw the bow of the ship clearly.

As she had secretly hoped, it went live to the world without any editing of the original transmitted data. The bosses back at the main office wanted to get the report and any related data out as fast as they could. They thought this could be Earth shattering news. The Chinese had been expanding their power around the world for almost two decades. It now seemed that one small little island was going to be the first road block or speed bump that anyone had been able to be throw up against them. And everyone knows what happens to speed bumps. They get run over. Then there was the old news adage. "If it bleeds? It leads." A ship in distress was close enough to bleeding to get the same treatment.

Ruth and Mell watched the ship come in a lot faster than they had ever seen before. The West Pac was moving at just under fifteen knots when her captain cut power to the main engines all at once. Without the engines sucking in water and pushing it out the back of the ship, the aft of the ship quickly rose higher in the water. While it was still moving, the wave of the wake caught up to the ship in a rolling motion. Now like a bubble of water, it raised the back end of the ship first. Then the lifting wave moved forward before the bow crested the wave and slid down the back side of the twelve foot artificially made wave. The top of the ship had people moving all over it, like ants at a picnic.

The now coasting cargo ship took a sharp cut to port by using its stern and bow thrusters that still had power to operate. The people on the pier could not tell that the sudden move was just an over-correction to line up on the pier. The captain was attempting to do something he had only done once, and that had been in a simulator a decade ago. It however did a great job of showing the damage that was running down the starboard side of the ship to them. Damage caused by the close call with Chinese cargo ships and warships.

Ruth was not sure if the distressed gasp was picked up by the built-in microphones and transmitted to the rest of the world. She also did not know if it was her that made the noise, or if it came from one of the other closely gathered people. The camera operator did not need to be told to zoom in on the damage now visible all along the side of the little ship. He wanted a closer look of the damage himself. So he just adjusted the lens to let him see the damage even better. This image was what was going out to the world, along with the gasp that had been picked up from the gathered crowd.

It was impressive looking damage to the naked eye and to the lens of his camera. It reminded the cameraman of what the USS Cole had looked like after being attacked in harbor at Aden, Yemen. Very few people knew that much about how ships were built, but it did look very bad on people's home TV's and computer screens. The whole starboard side of the catamaran was dented, scarred, scraped, and visibly smoking. There were even four of five large fountains of white and grey water coming out of the ship. It would have been a perfect stand in for a war movie. That is, if the damage was not real. It was very real damage though, and people's lives were at risk every second that the ship was not getting support from something.

It looked to the group on the pier that the side of ship would give way any second and sink the whole vessel. The Colonials did not have any tow craft or tug boats, so the West Pac had to do all the work of docking on her own. The cove that the small craft marina and pier had been built in, had a thick sand and mud bottom that offered protections from the wind and waves of the open ocean. It was the only one like it on both of the two islands in the shared lagoon.

* * *

The West Pac and her sisters had been using the end of the pier for loading and offloading their cargos as they came into and left the Trading Post. Now they were going to tie down the ship to the pier in a different configuration. The loading end was at end of the pier and in the deepest part of the cove with connections to the rest of the island. The West Pac was just lucky that deep water was not what the West Pac needed right now. Both sides of the pier had access to the water and could be used to handle the small cargo ships but only one of those sides had the tie down points that Captain Beattie now needed. He therefore had his ship moving along at a about a walking pace while he made the last fine adjustments to line up his ship so it could use the port side ropes and cleats. Beattie was focused on the task at hand. He lightly touched a nob and used some power from the bow thruster to refine his heading just the way he wanted it.

He wanted his ship to be close to the pier, but not too close. His depth finder was screaming at him that he was running out of water under his hull. The tide was on its way out, but he still had a few hours before low tide locked him in the cove. He was going to put his ship on the bottom, in mud, near the pier but it was a fine line to walk and it definitely was going to void any warranties the ship might have left on her.

If his plan worked out, it would keep the ship from sinking and allow his crew to get to the ship's areas that normally would be below the waterline. When high tide came back in, he hoped that it would lift the ship out of the mud and sand he was about to put her in. He hoped that the high tide would be enough to float his ship back to deeper water. The real tricky part, was that it all had to be done in one tide cycle or as few as possible. If he took too long, he would be risking the well-known suction effect of the mud on his hull. That would hold his ship in place and he would need a real tug boat or two to get out of the mess he was intentionally putting his ship into. He was just thankful that he was running with a very light cargo load when he traded paint as the NASCAR fans would say with the Chinese warship. That was after the first cargo ship started this little issue, in the first place.

Captain Beattie felt a slight shudder run through the ship as the sharp bow pushed through a small ridge of wave action sand at the bottom of the cove. Snake quick, the captain's hands hit the button that emergency stopped all of the pump jets and pumps for that matter on the ship. He did not want them to suck in too much gunk and who knows what bottom debris into those water intakes. He was hoping that he was going to need them soon, and he wanted them in full working order.

He also did not want to have too much speed and torque when he came coasting down to the final stop. That would be called a crash stop and any word group that started with the word 'crash' is something that a ship's captain wanted to avoid as much as possible. The captain and crew were just along for the final part of the ride until the ship came to a final stop. Once the ship did stop, rope lines flew into the air over the short distance to the pier. This was happening all the way down one side of the ship in a ripple of throwing arms. The Captain and crew for that matter wanted as many lines connecting the damaged ship to the pier as they could get.

As soon as possible, the gangway was lowered to touch the island pier one last time. It could reach farthest and deploy the fastest, so it was it went down first. Only after the distance was verified by the built-in equipment would the crew consider lowering the larger and heavier duty aft ramp to the pier. They would do it only for specific reasons. Right now, the captain needed to get the few passengers off of his boat and out from under foot of the ship's crew. At least with a catamaran style hull, he did not have to worry too much about her capsizing.

The ship was like a bee hive that had been kicked over as crew flew about the ship checking everything within or on her now damaged hull. The ship only had a normal crew of twenty-three, but even the temporary cargo deck hands were moving with a purpose today. The captain made sure that everyone was moving in the right direction, and then went to his office. He had reports to make, and one of them could not wait any longer.

Besides, the CIA was not the waiting kind of organization. Not when someone bent one of their large and expensive toys. He was thinking he had maybe ten minutes before the locals wanted to know his side of the story aside from what he had reported over the non-encrypted radio transmission. He needed to find a way to protect his ship and its secrets from a very close and long term interaction with a third party.

When he left the ship's bridge, the escorting Raptor made one more pass over the grounded cargo ship before heading back to its landing spot about a mile away at what was now called the space and air port. The other Colonial manned craft would stay in the air as both look outs and quick response force to any more threats to the islands.

It was almost fifteen minutes later when Beattie was passed a note while he was working in his cabin. It was short and only told him to please report to the building at the end of the pier. It had been acting as the harbor master's office for some time now, so he knew what the request was for. Stephen did not get up to leave his ship, not in its current condition. Until he found out what the status of his boat was they would have to physically carry him off. He did send a message inviting the Colonials to send someone over to the ship's Security Room to review all of the data recordings of the events of today. Stephen knew that was what they wanted anyway.

Stephen was not surprised when only a few minutes later, he was told that the commanding officer of the two islands and his second in command were walking up the gangplank on the side of his ship. He was also told that one of the BBC news team was already filming the damage. They were taking shots from the nearest part of the old small boat marina just across from the heavily used pier. From that location, the news team could see the crew working on fixing the damage both above and below decks. This time, Captain Beattie left his office after making sure all the locks were set. He had only enough time to send one specially encrypted email out. That should buy him enough time to find out some more facts before his bosses lost their minds.

Stephen met the two Colonials before they made it the short bridge that was the command center of the cargo ship. "Colonel, thank you for letting me dock my broken boat. And thank you for getting that warship off of my ass."

Charles had just a slight smile on his face as he took the other man's hands. "No problem. I wish we could have helped more and sooner. Your planet's maritime laws are more than a little confusing to us. How many did you lose?" The last statement came out very brittle. It was a question that only someone who had lost crewmembers before could get away with asking.

 _"At least he did not ask what the butcher bill was. That might have had me throwing a punch."_ Thought Stephen. He hated writing those letters home.

Stephen also made a note to add 'war weary' to the still very thin file on this man. "We took heavy damage and my people are still checking it out. We have a couple of bumps and bruises but it looks like we did not even get any major bones broken. That might change after everyone gets over the shock of being rammed twice."

Charles felt his shoulder slump. He had pictured dead people in the hull of the ship when the Raptor transmitted the images of the damage down one side of the ship. He did not ever want to see helpless civilians lost to combat actions again. "Well, that is good to hear. Now what the frak happened out there?"

Stephen let his eyes open just a bit larger. "I think it would be better if I show you what happened. That way you can see for yourself. Would you mind if I invite the BBC crew to join us in the Security Room? That way they could cover the event as well. That might help me out with my bosses and the insurance company that is going to get one big ass bill before this is all done."

Charles did not say anything for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. He was thinking that the more eyes there were on this the better. That also would help in the future. He did not want whoever had ordered the attack on this boat to get off scot free. Not if he could help it. He and the rest of Colonials did not have any secrets to protect this time. Images of fully armed Raptors had been on the internet for months already.

While the two men checked out the nearby damage a little closer, word was sent to Ruth requesting that she send a full news team in for a meeting. Ruth had not waited to find out what the meeting was going to be about. She only needed to know where it was before she got her people moving. She could taste another scoop in her future.

The meeting in the Security Room was delayed for only few minutes. This was not the only Security Room on the ship but it was the publicly known one and was fully functional for its advertised mission. After the first few attacks on the Colonial control islands had failed, there had been some security issues at the port of Tahiti, not long after. In fact, the last major engine issue the borrowed LST had encountered had not been a simple breakdown like the press release had said.

Someone had been able to sneak onto the ship and open one of the main valves undetected. The ship had not been lost to this action but the unexpected flooding had put the flat-bottomed boat on the harbor floor. That was only about 12 feet below the hull's normal bottom. Not much real damage had been done to the ship overall, but salt water and electrical cables did not mix that well. Not even for a short amount of time, like what happened in this case. Every power cable in the ship, and not just the ones in the engine room, had to be replaced back in Hawaii.

This would have to be done before she was safe to run on the seas again. It was assumed that they could have been able to keep the LST and other ships safe just by having more guards on the dock they were using to load and unload the cargos. Unfortunately, the LST was a leased vessel that would have to be returned to its owners after a short term contract. This limited what could be done to the vessel to support this mission on the overt and covert avenues.

The Company had not been known to only count on just one layer of defense, even before the Colonials stopped by to buy a pair of islands on the planet. As each ship owned by the head office underwent some down time for major maintenance, security upgrades were added. This would happen not long after the vessel changed owners. Each of the additional small cargo ships was outfitted with day and night video systems on the outside and inside of the ships along with a few other surprises. These modifications were just like the ones that the West Pac Express had gone through years ago. Like her, the more powerful systems were mounted on the outer hull of the ships.

It was not that high tech of a set of equipment to be outfitted on a spy ship. They were more like a sea safe version of the system most news helicopters carried on their flights for years now. Each of the ships was carrying four of these compact systems located at different areas of the ships. They had one system that was each mounted on the bow, stern, and to each of the ship's sides. All so that the ship can have a 360 degree coverage, and even overlapping coverage at certain points. These had come in handy when they were scouting out a harbor or looking at whatever might be within any distance that the ship could view in day or night. They also would record everything they saw in UHD.

That meant that the entire event had been recorded. As soon as the captain had seen that the Panamax cargo ship was within five miles of his command, he had ordered the activation of the system that was normally only used in or near ports. Having ships in the open ocean come within ten miles of each other? That was strange, and more times than not meant that bad things were about to happen to one of the two ships. Firing up all of the cameras was a standard SOP for the small ship. The internet was filled with videos of cargo ships causing damage to other ships or harbor facilities.

The time stamp was marked in the digital logs, but it was also noted that this area of congested sea lanes was getting busier every month. The whole local area had been experiencing a major economic boom at a level that had been seen only a few times over the last hundred years anywhere around the world. That meant more traffic of all kinds was being seen in this area. That was on top of all of the warships and military planes that were drawn to the Colonial controlled islands.

That was when the video started. It took some time, but it played out for everyone. Only in a few places were the images played at a faster rate than normal. The room was quiet, and it was the news crew that recovered first when the video ended. Ruth asked for a copy of the data, and had all the paperwork signed to take ownership recordable DVD. After that was done, the images were ready for release to the public via her news network. She was now very glad that she had stock options as part of the paycheck she got from BBC every two weeks.

* * *

Amos Miles was taking the day off. He hated his job. So much so that today he had just decided to call in sick for a day long stay at home vacation or staycation. He even was planning on calling in again the next day. Amos 'just call me Miles' had spent almost ten years of his life in the United States Army. After a few too many deployments too close together to a combat zone, well, he had been convinced to find a new kind of job.

He had been a combat engineer in the US Army, but jobs that he was trained for were few and far in between in the outside world. That is, unless he wanted to go back overseas. This time without any weapons. He did have a head for math, so he had been picked up by a large mortgage firm helping people refinance their homes. His wife had left him a year after taking the new civilian job. She had kind of liked him being gone for so long, and now she could not handle him being back all the time. This was not an uncommon story being passed around the veterans support group that he went to at least once a month. Those monthly meetings had been put in writing for him to attend by the judge assigned to his divorce case.

As one of those people who loved sci-fi anything more than reality TV, the idea of watching human like aliens helping to make a supply run to the ISS even for the second time was too much to resist. It was too much for him not to watch live at home, instead of working in a cubicle and feeling like he had to hang out with strangers after they had gotten off of work. Today was supposed to be the big after mission show that was supposed to have a lot of extras not covered on the two live telecasts of the missions to the ISS. He wanted to watch the show first and that meant during his work shift. One always had to work on someone else's schedule. It did not matter if he was in the army or not. He was always on someone else's schedule.

The waiting had been worth it, and he had not missed a second of the broadcast coming from both NASA and the BBC. He had almost blown his drink out of his nose when the Colonial pilot hinted that he was about to go off script and visit the moon. That was even after he had seen it a third time. He had not been able to tear himself away from the feed, until the small space plane landed back on their islands in the South Pacific. That information and those images had not been aired on the first broadcast. The next hour was going to be interviews with the two astronauts that had done all of the filming from the back of the alien craft on both missions. He had left the TV on the news station while he went to the kitchen to heat up a pair of slices of cold pizza.

He had been waiting for more information about any future space missions. That was more of a personal hope, not anything from the news shows. They had a habit of putting a spin on what they thought was being said, and not covering what was really being said. He wanted to know about future missions, not worry about if the pilot of the alien craft was a man, woman, or LGTBQAT+ whatever. He had just come back into the living room when the banner came flashing on about Breaking News of a possible attack on those same humans that had not been born on this planet.

Miles was not the only one on the planet who had a problem wrapping their minds around calling them Colonials. He had been sitting on the edge of his seat as he waited for more information to come in. His jaw hit the carpet when the live BBC show feed was interrupted by what he had to assume was an island wide public address system on a massive scale. He had seen and heard a few of those devices on his deployments. He watched all of the talking heads try to understand what had happened.

Miles had to run out of the bathroom when he heard that they were going to replay a recording of the event that had put the Colonials on a war footing soon. He was just a little late, not able to make it all the way back to his well-loved recliner. He sat down on the overfull coffee table as the images started to play on his screen. His heart was beating out of his chest when the wall of red metal bumped the smaller cargo ship. It went downhill from there. He thought things might slow down when the two vessels separated. Then the images showed a third ship, and it was not a cargo vessel of any kind.

On Miles' 60 inch HD TV the image of the white-grey warship coming bow on to camera was impressive. He had already seen the massive cargo ship brush the way smaller cargo ship. The original recording had been in high definition 4K, one step below IMAX quality.

The warship was moving fast. From the close in viewpoint of the images, and from a very low point of view, it looked like a knife the size of a skyscraper was about to fall on a mini cooper.

An audio recording that had been taken from the bridge was picked up and he could clearly hear the demand for the ship to stop and let inspectors aboard. The warship was large and looked huge, but Miles was not an expert on navy warships or ocean ships in general. After all, he was an army guy and had very rarely seen an ocean-going vessel in person. He did notice the big, billboard like antennas mounted on the superstructure of the warship. Those billboards reminded Miles of the system on some US Navy ships he had seen on the internet. He could make out large block numbers on the side of the ship that said 172, but could not make anything else out. Not with any understanding of what the functions might be on what he was seeing.

Then, as if the news service was reading his mind, a white text box appeared at the bottom of the screen. It said that the ship was a Chinese Type 052D destroyer that NATO Code named the Luyang III class. That let all the viewers who might not be that smartest in the ways of Navy combat ships know what they were looking at. Then again, sometimes they just gave out enough information to appease the average person. It was enough information to get those who wanted to know more of a way to do so. Ah the glories of the internet and information age.

Miles pulled out his computer tablet, and quickly looked up the name after connecting to the internet. The images he found on the search did look a lot like the one on the news reports now flooding the mainstream media and the internet news services. Between news updates, he began to read about the ship's class and abilities. Then he did the same for the West Pac Express and the other Spearhead Class cargo ships reported to be working the area. All while keeping an eye and ear tuned in to the news video playing out on his big screen TV.

The screen jumped a little as the feed went from the aft mounted system to one of the side mounted ones. The Chinese Destroyer kept getting closer and closer like a grey painted moving wall of steel. When the camera panned down in a smooth motion, the viewers could see that there was now only a few dozen feet separating the two moving ships. The moving water was very choppy between the two metal walls. It looked like a narrow mountain stream for only the craziest of white water rafters to try. A still image could have just been captioned and put on social media, "Death awaits you here. Do not fall". Or maybe it would say something like, "play at own risk."

Miles had a flashback to one of the shows his wife used to like so much. It had been about countering whale hunting expeditions. What happened next, happened very fast. Almost as soon as the camera mount had been pointed more in a downward direction, things changed. One second the ships were separated by a dozen or so feet, the next second they were bumping and rubbing hard against each other. The larger 7,000 ton warship made the 2,100 ton cargo ship look very small. And when they hit, the larger ship pushed the smaller ship sideways.

It was like a bar bouncer pushing drunks out of his way going to the front door. It was not a soft hit as those things go. The sound carried over the recording of the cargo ship's crew trying to wave off the warship, and into a few hundred million TV and computer speakers around the world at the speed of light. The sound was a cross between a giant's fingers going down a chalkboard and a car crash from hell. The sound made people cringe and wince, but they all kept their eyes on the screen. In parts of the minds of the people watching, they knew that the ship had survived the encounter but could not help but wonder if the cargo ship was going to sink after being hit like that.

What the viewers did not know was that the crash was as much a surprise to the people watching the recording worldwide as it had been for the West Pac's captain that experienced the event. It was not uncommon for cargo ships to trade a little paint now and then but that normally only happened in port or maybe in a very tight shipway. To have it happen a second time, within a few minutes of each other, now that was hard to believe.

The big difference this time was that he was not some Sea Shepherd, and they were not a Japanese Whaling fleet out in the back of nowhere. This was a ship that had been a US Navy test ship and still made port in some very public places. She even was an American flagged vessel, the flag visible in a few of images. Its Captain was one of the best trained and most experienced merchant marine Masters in the world for this type of craft.

So, when the Chinese warship hit his ship, and this was the second strike in less than ten minutes, he was quick off the jump to protect his ship and the lives of the crew and passengers that were on her. He had taken over the helm of his ship as soon as the warship was less than a mile from him. If there was an official maritime review, he wanted it noted that it was him at the controls and not some enlisted person. All the blame would be for him to deal with, in public and in the courtroom. That was why he was paid the big bucks, after all. If he could not do that, than he would not have deserved his Master's license.

The West Pac was still rebounding from the hit and the following push from the larger ship when the captain's hands hit the first buttons in his plan. One that was not fully formed even as he went about it. The button he pressed had not made it all the way to the stops at the bottom of the switch on the bridge before two crescent shaped deflectors started to move. They were not unlike what a passenger jet used when it lands on a short runway. Those clam shells started to move with all of the hydraulic power that the ship could provide.

The two clam shells quickly started diverting the water flow 180 degrees from normal operation. The captain was pulling a lever with one hand and hitting a second button with the other. All before he yanked the helm wheel away from the larger ocean vessel. Deep inside the ship, one engine went to max power to push the vessel forward while the bow thrusters on side facing the warship went to full power. This close the water flow was physically pushing against the Chinese warship as well as pushing the lightly loaded cargo ship.

It was sometimes referred to as a speed turn for power boats but there was a big difference between your average 100 ton ocean going power boat and a 2,100 ton cargo ship. The maneuver did have the advantage of not being seen before on this scale. Who said that watching the sports entertainment channels would not come in handy one day at work?

As seen from maybe two thousand feet above the water, the smaller ship would have looked like it completed an almost 180 degree turn. It would have done this within its own length or as close to it as would not matter. It would have only looked that way to the untrained eye. Many a ship combat captain from World War 2 would had loved to try it. That is, if their ship could have done half of what that cargo ship had just done while being broadcast to the world. PT boat crews, eat your heart out.

With his ship now almost pointed in the direction of the closest landmass and away from the 172 meter long warship, it was time to kick this pig. The West Pac's captain had done everything without saying a word to the rest of his bridge crew and had done it so quickly that the bridge staff still was recovering from the ramming. Most were still picking themselves up off the deck from the shock that had been transmitted through the hull of the smaller ship. All while they had been slung around like an ice cube in a small house sized blinder.

Stephen started giving orders just as the phone rang beside him. It was the officer in charge of Engineering. He what to know what the hell was going on up there. Captain Beattie did not have time to go into any details, so he left him on speaker phone. The Captain had too many other things to do for the next few minutes.

From the video's perspective of the events right after impact, one moment the cargo ship was shaking from its contact with the larger ship, the next moment the large warship shot away and was out of the field of view in a blur of white and grey. Then the cargo ship seemed like it was dancing on the water. The warship was still out of view, but the damage the two impacts had done to the smaller ship was clearly visible. Then the image went to a different camera and the warship was again visible. Anyone could tell it was the aft mounted camera again, but that did not stop the commentator from giving the audience this information a few seconds after the change of view.

Now the flat aft of the cargo ship was pointed at the broadside of the Chinese warship. Up until now, the speeds had been just on the high-end for a merchant vessel, hovering around fifteen to eighteen knots. That was quickly changing. The warship was visibly growing farther behind the fleeing cargo ship. Miles had no idea that ships that big could have a rooster tail of water behind them. It looked a lot like the ski boat he had rented a few summers ago. Only this one was looking to be about fifty feet tall.

The West Pac Express had one, and it was growing large and larger as more power was increasingly pumped from the four diesels mounted deep in her hull. The rooster tail grew as they started to be revved up at first to full power, then across the line into 'overpower mode'. Miles did not know if it was the diesels' turbos or something else that was coming across the speakers as a high pitch sequel. It was a classic horse race. It just was on a lot larger scale, one that most of the people watching had never heard of much less seen in any shape or form.

In the video the warship was just starting to turn to catch the fleeing smaller ship. Soon it was lined up, and then it looked to be closing the distance on the twin hulled ship. The West Pac had four diesel engines pushing pump jets. They were needed to make her top speed of about 33 knots on about 28 MW of power. The downside was that she was a cargo ship and not a warship, and her hull had not seen a scraper in almost a year.

In short, that meant it would take time to get up to her full list power output. At least, not without blowing the heads off the top of the massive diesel motors. The warship also had diesel engines, but they were mixed with a set of larger gas turbine engines. Those last also were the same type of engines as those usually mounted on large airplanes. Those four engines only could turn the two large bronze propellers mounted at the aft of the warship. The propellers were huge, but they could only move so much water without cavitation shaking the ship apart as it tried to get to top speed. It is called an acceleration ramp. Only time would tell how close to the truth each ship's ramp was going to be to real life.

That design made for a slower top end cruising speed but made her better on longer endurance runs on a set amount of fuel if she only needed to feed the diesel engines. When she needed a burst of speed, or say chase someone down, then she had two gas-turbine engines to add their output to the twin propeller shafts. They were very high power output devices, but they used a lot of fuel to get that high power output. In fact, they were so thirsty that the engines each had a rating measured in gallons per minute, not miles or kilometer per gallon like the everyday car. One of the advantages was that they came online quickly, and they could fully spin up within seconds after they were brought online. The fuel usage was almost the same for them to be at idle as it was to have them at full power. Soon the greyhound of the sea had an engine output power of just over 68 MW to the props.

The Luyang III class destroyer was able to reach full speed in a little over two minutes after all of the engines had been brought to full power. It took another minute for the cavitation of her twin props to subside but by that time the West Pac Express' speed was also climbing to the maximum her hull could hold. Soon they would be moving at about the same high speed, but unlike the warship the West Pac still had 3 more knots on her rated top speed. She also was a smaller ship, and she was running without that much in the way of heavy cargo.

The downside was that the West Pac was damaged and taking on water. This was adding to the amount of mass she had to move through the water. She also had not had her bottom checked out or cleaned in some time, adding to the parasitic drag she was having to deal with.

During one of the few commercial breaks Miles was able to move to his chair. Not that he would remember doing so. Miles found himself leaning forward in his overstuffed chair getting closer to the TV as the warship closed the distance on the cargo ship again. Suddenly, information from a range finder popped up on the screen. It showed the steadily decreasing distance between the two ships. It looked like the tech guys were in a hurry to get the information on display and chose a bad place to put it. The information was almost washed out when a white wave of the growing rooster tail covered that part of the display.

With a quick change of colors, the range data now stood out enough that Miles could see it was steadily falling. The warship was getting closer to the cargo ship, but it was soon clear to anyone with half a brain that the rate of closure was not rising as fast as it had been at the start of the chase. Then, for about thirty seconds the numbers held steady, then they started going the other way. It was only inches at a time but the distance was now changing and growing between the two ships. The West Pac had her legs under her, and she was starting to stretch them out a little bit.

Miles almost jumped out of his skin, when a blur went across the screen and the sound of the sound barrier breaking announced the abuse in the air of his home. Miles had no idea what it might have been at first. Then his brain caught up. He had thought it might have been a jet fighter or something from one of the carriers he had heard were in the area for the last few months. Then the noise and the slow motion action of an inset replay box grabbed his attention.

A notice popped on Miles's screen in a white text box. It said that a Colonial Raptor had just passed between the two ships to try to get the warship to back off. When the second flyby happened, the image slowed down just enough to show an odd shaped blur cross the screen between the cargo ship and the warship. At this slower frame rate, he could see the shock wave moving through the air, and it was visible to the naked eye as it crossed the distance to the cargo ship. When the shock wave hit the ship, it was just as loud a report as the first wave that had shaken the cargo ship. Miles now was not surprised by the double clap of the sonic booms. Then things changed again.

It was about a minute and half later that the front of the warship sported a grey billowing cloud. One that was quickly blown away by the almost 35 knot winds coming over the deck of the warship. Miles thought something might have happened to the Chinese ship. A sudden burst of smoke should not just happen. Then it blew away and was replaced by another one. The image changed with a quick jerk and the image of the bow was now visible. A big fountain of blue white and grey was rising out of the water. Miles had seen too many TV shows not to know that he had just seen what a real life shot across the bow looked like. He had even used that term a few times a year when he was still in the military. Now that he saw one, he doubted that he ever would use that term again. It was a lot more intimidating term than he was comfortable using in a nonthreatening way.

He also knew that it was universal sign in the navy saying, "if you keep this crap up, we will make you swim home." The image of the great water spout was held for what seemed like long seconds to minutes but was really only for a few long heartbeats. That is, unless someone was playing games with the playback speed. He did not care. Miles was thinking that firing a weapon like that close to something that was supporting the aliens' base of operations was an escalation that not one ship in the world would win. Miles knew that air power was king. It had been that way for decades.

Miles was holding his breath. Just like a couple of million other people watching the same images. The image shifted back to the massive white-water rooster tail and the following warship that was still there. The West Pac was not showing any signs that she was going to slow down, not even after the shot near her bow. Miles did not even realize that the West Pac had crossed the invisible line into Colonial controlled or claimed water. The commentator had just finished saying that when it became very clear to everyone watching that the rules had just changed.

In a massive flash of light, a huge god like curtain of water just rose up in front of the charging warship. At first Miles, and most of the world along with him, thought that the cargo ship or the Colonies must have blown the warship out of the water somehow. It looked like Niagara Falls had just showed up in the middle of the ocean and was going upwards instead falling like water was supposed to do. The world had just as equally been turned on its head, and it was all caught on high definition video.

A heartbeat later the Chinese warship came charging through the water curtain like a scene from an action movie. That was where things went wrong for the warship. It looked like it tilted down, and then something happened. It was hard to see what, but stuff flew off of the ship while its nose was hidden by the waves and ocean water level. When the knife-like bow came back up and into camera view, the whole nose of the ship was folded over to one side of the warship. It was like the steel had been turned into soft taffy and pulled over to one side of the ship.

Miles sat back deeper into his recliner and had a slight smile on his face. He did not think that the warship would want to chase anyone any more. Not with that kind of damage done to it. As he watched the images play out on his TV, the nose of the ship continued to shed water and the recording kept playing for a while longer. The show was over and the fat lady had sung her swan song. The playing of the images was just to let people get to breathing again now that the action was over.

The image froze in mid-frame, with a great shot of the warship turning away from the cargo ship very sluggishly. It showed perfectly the bent over bow covering the white letters that at one time said 172. The rooster tail being ejected by the West Pac was also frozen in time, and in the same frame as the warship. That still image would eventually be voted as one of the most recognized images of the year.

When the news anchor came back on, she had a faint smile on her face before she started reading off of her teleprompter. Miles could tell that she was holding back from saying what she really wanted to say on live television. She was a pro and so there was only a few seconds of dead air before she started reading from the teleprompter.

"At the time of broadcast, the Chinese government had not yet replied to our request for comment on what might have happened in the South Pacific. We hope to have more information on this story later. For now, we would like to ask our guest..." Miles hit the remote and cut the anchor off before she could say any more. It would be a while before anything new would come out about this story. He was expecting that for the next four to six hours, there would be nothing new. They would only be rehashing what the world had just seen with their own eyes.

Miles finished his now cold pizza and melted ice water. As he finished the last bite and washed it down with the last half of his water, he looked at the clock and counted down how long it was going to be until he had to go back to work in his head. He was doing the math for a second time, then stopped. He looked down at his laptop and his fingers just moved of their own accord. Very quickly his resume popped up, and was now displayed on the small screen of the device. He quickly typed in some updates. Ones that focused on his military combat engineering experience and combat deployments. After saving the changes as a new document, he uploaded the new one to the Colonial webpage and shut down his device. He went to bed and forgot about sending the resume before his head hit his pillow that night. The next day he would call in sick to work as he had planned. He would not even recall having sent the document, much less think about why he had done it in the first place for some time.


End file.
